BPRD: The Insectoid Man
by Zipper Whippersnapper
Summary: Told from the perspective of Gregory Langelaan. As the war on frogs and Ogdru Hem escalates, a new face is transferred over to the Colorado base. When things are at rock bottom, they can't get any worse...right? Bad summary, I know, but please read.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first Hellboy fanfic in a while; it focuses more on the comic verse. I'm a big fan of Hellboy, but I love the B.P.R.D series, so this story is set in that. Also, this is one of the first times I'm writing in a first-person format, so please let me know how I'm doing! Feedback is appreciated—I'm even willing to write cameo characters for those who want me to; I'm trying to shake things up a bit with my writing.

Please read and enjoy!

I guess an introduction is in order, isn't it?

To be frank, I'm not very good at these things…I've gotten somewhat rusty as of late when it comes to social interactions. Maybe the best thing to do is hazard through it and hope that it makes sense. Yes, I think I'll do that.

My name is Gregory Langelaan; it's a decent name, in my opinion, though a bit hard to say. It's especially hard to say for me; my vocal cords aren't exactly structured the same way as a human's. I can still write pretty well though, if I grip the pen in both my hands, and typing's a breeze. It's just that I can't manage much besides various chattering and hissing noises. Not since I was, oh, about twenty or so.

Life was pretty normal back then. I was in college. I worked on getting a Master's degree in teaching, went to the occasional frat party and slept _late_ on the weekends. Things were great, really they were.

Of course, that all changed when I began noticing that my skin was getting strangely thick and inflexible. My bones were getting fragile, too; in less then a week I'd broken my arm and fractured something in my leg. The doctor told me to stay off my feet—I did, but the bones continued to break and crack with the slightest motion. My skin hardened into a kind of armor, so to speak, and moving around got really hard. Eventually I just curled up painfully on the dorm sofa and stayed put.

Somebody found me there a few days later, when I'd realized that I couldn't get back up and began croaking for help. They screamed and ran away. That scared me…really it did. I was more frightened then, I think, then when the truck rolled up outside and a few people from a group called the "BPRD" took me away.

Nothing was more frightening, though, then when I caught a glimpse of my face while being carried past a mirror on a stretcher. My skin had turned this dull orange-black color, and it was gravelly and rough, like concrete. It's nice and smooth now, like a ceramic plate, but then I have to admit that I looked _bad_. My eyes were also messed up; they bulged out like blackened apples from my eyelids and rolled around like a crazy person's. At least, that's what they told me later, when things had calmed down and I was beginning to understand it all.

After that, things get fuzzy. All I remember is the pain…that, and new thoughts. The therapist told me that those were instincts and that I had to cope with this new, "inhuman" part of me. "Inhuman," that's funny. How do they know that whatever I am now is inhuman? Sure, I don't look like most other people, but what if it's just a new kind of human? I mean, they have _no clue_ why I'm like this or why I changed, so why not take that into consideration?

I guess it's the whole business with these "frog monsters." They're supposed to be some new form of human as well, but from what I've seen they're even worse then I am. I'm not the prettiest guy around, don't get me wrong, but believe me when I say that the frog nasties are ugly sonsofbitches. I fight them, did you know that? As an agent of the BPRD. I think I'm an agent…I got the badge and everything, and they even modified a vest and belt to fit over my exoskeleton and third pair of legs. Oh, I forgot to mention those—they grew in after a month or so. They're really useful when it comes to typing and holding things.

So in a nutshell, I'm not human anymore. If anything, I'm more like a giant, bipedal insect. The doctors at the BPRD said that my appearance is similar to the "Madagascar hissing cockroach," except with wings. (I'm still trying to work out the whole flying thing. It sounds awesome, but it's really hard to get right.) I like those little cockroaches; a few of them hang around my little sleeping quarters and I kind of think of them as my friends. At least with other cockroaches you can relate—they understand when you get those annoying itches under the exoskeleton, and they really appreciate sugar. I don't get how people here can add it to all kinds of food willy-nilly around here, because it's so wonderful…it's excellent on its own, and I can't get enough of the stuff.

Right now, I'm in a truck, headed to some base in Colorado. I've been transferred to work with _the_ Ben Daimio and _the _Kate Corrigan on eradicating the frog monsters. I think the idea that the people in charge had was that since I'm a "bug nasty," I'd understand how the "frog nasties" think. That kind of thinking gets me angry, but what can I do? It's like when people call me a bug: I can't stop them from doing it, though it gets me really angry. I prefer being called Gregory rather then "the bug."

It's cold here, but I think I'll get used to it. That isn't what's bothering me right now. I'm not sure _what's_ got my antennae twitching, actually…maybe it's that I'll be meeting a whole new group of people, and I never do well at introducing myself. Maybe it's the fact that something seems off and not right, like there's something in the air that screeches _DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!_ I don't know...I guess it'll turn up eventually.


	2. Chapter 2

*w00t! Another chapter already! A big thank you to Izzy for not only reading and reviewing, but volunteering her character for my story! You gets a cookie! ^,,^

Read and enjoy, people! {—)K (Kudos and e-cookies to anyone who can make a better cockroach smiley.)

Now, I don't know if you know this, but insects are tiny. Very tiny, compared to the group of giant vertebrates that I used to belong to. Something like skittering across a bathtub can be like running a marathon when you're only a few inches long. I'm not that small myself—I top about five feet when I stand up straight, and my antennae add on about a foot and a half—but I tend to think of things as if I was. So you can only imagine how I felt when I was escorted into the base and caught sight of the seemingly endless hallways. How long do they go on? Miles? To think that this was all inside the mountain…now I know where my tax dollars went. I know they sure as hell didn't go into fixing the potholes in the street near my old house.

Carefully I opened the file that held all of my identification and instructions, leafing through it with one pair of arms while holding it with the other pair. As I looked for the single particular piece of paper, my antennae flicked around and I registered the basic smells and sounds of my new home. Concrete, linoleum, _really_ inadequate heating and cooling system…hey, I could get kinda used to it. As long as they turned off the glaring florescent lights now and again; I really don't like bright lighting. I can cope, but I need some nice, warm, musty darkness to really relax. There were quite a few people here, too, and there was a faint smell of ashes and a crackle of static in the air…ah, there it was. The small slip of paper that told me where to go.

((Conference room six?)) I clicked to myself before remembering to tuck my mandibles neatly back into place under my head. People get creeped out by the insect jaws—that and the antennae, so I try not to eat or feel around at things when others are looking. There's always a certain point, though, that I stop caring about being polite: a guy's got the right to munch at some food and smell things, no matter what they look like or how they do it. If somebody's got a problem with that, it's their issue. I can't change the way I look or act. Not _that_ much, anyway.

((Now where is conference room six?)) The few men that had driven me here were gone, presumably to report to somebody that I arrived safely. There was that one time a while ago, when I got separated while clearing some houses in a nice little town and nearly got gassed by some housewife with a can of Raid…the BPRD tends to keep a closer eye on my then their other guys. Oh dear, I'm rambling…I'm hungry too, come to think of it. That was a long car ride, and something smells sugary nearby here…

_Back on track!_ I shook myself and restrained my antennae. I can scrounge around for something tasty later—the main focus here should be on finding the conference room. Conference room…that's important, so there's got to be a sign or something here to tell me where it is. I looked around for clues to its location, walked around in a big circle, and came up blank.

Alright…time to ask somebody.

From behind my wing I pulled out a small deck of index cards. It's useful, I've found, to write down key phrases beforehand so that communication can go faster. All I need to do is hold up a card that says "Hi! I'm Gregory. Pleased to meet you," "Who are you?" or "where's the restroom?" and people respond in less then a few moments. It's a lot easier then trying to sign it in ASL, though I did learn that a while ago as part of my studies. Besides, I don't exactly have fingers, so it can be tough making some of the complex gestures.

I pulled out the one that said "Where is…?" and scrawled a quick "conference room 6" between the words and the question mark. That done, I sniffed at the air again. There was somebody nearby; all I needed to do was walk over to them and politely show them the card. God, whatever's cooking smells _amazing_…no, no _concentrate_ Gregory. Focus on finding people, not food. Food comes after you get settled in—no, now I'm thinking about how tired I am! Aw _man_.

There! A person! Walking down another hallway to where I was now, head bopping to some steady rhythm. I could feel the air pulsing from their headphones pulsing to the bass; it was something fast and twitchy, which suited my mood just fine. Oh dear…this is a bit rushed. I don't have a clue how they'll react, and I'll just be walking up to them and asking for directions. Well, I might as well do it now.

I carefully walked over to them, trying to avoid any insect-like scampering on my part. Slow, recognizable, human movements…that does the trick.

((Excuse me?)) I showed the card. ((Can you give me directions?))

** Double parenthesis ((like this)) indicate that Gregory's speaking. Quotation marks "like this" show that somebody is speaking normally.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone that reviewed! It makes me so happy to know that there are others who read my story. This chapter is a bit longer then the others—consider it my Christmas present to you guys. OwO Have a happy holiday season, and I'll try to update as much as I can over the break.

{—)K

The young woman looked up and blinked a bit when I squeaked at them, an expression of bemusement flitting across her features. Abruptly she halted and stared at me for a few moments. Unconsciously I braced myself; this was the critical time, the time in which people either decide that they're going to cope with the fact they're looking at a giant bug or run away like I'm a monster. If the latter happened, I'd have to find someone else to ask for directions, and that's never fun.

Luckily for me, she didn't run away. Instead, the lady pulled an IPod out of her pocket and shut off that twitchy music with a single push of a button. "Ya mind saying that again? I didn't catch you the first time."

Well, this was going…surprisingly well. She hadn't screamed and began running away yet. That's always a good sign, but this had to go quick—I was already late and my stomach was beginning to bubble in hunger like a half-flat can of cola. I had, oh, about half an hour tops before I got too distracted by my gut to think straight. That's one of the bad things about being an insect: you get an insect brain. Hunger and other instinctual things can push logic to the back of the bus, and whenever that happens I'm usually easily distracted, erratic, and irritable. Not the best way to make friends.

((You can't understand me.)) I held out the card so she could see it, signing the sentence with my lower arms. She took the card and read it quickly, laughing a bit when she handed it back.

"That's one hell of a coincidence—I was just about to go there myself. C'mon." She continued walking. "The name's Jink, by the way. What're you called?"

Another card. _Hello! I'm Gregory Langelaan._

"Gregory, huh? That's pretty cool. Here's conference room six. Prepare for boredom…" With a grimace and no explanation she pushed open the door and slouched inside, turning her IPod back on again. I sighed squeakily, scratched my stomach with a clawed hand, and followed her. As I skittered in, I felt the cold tile under my feet give way to something more like thin carpet. Immediately I began to relax; the lighting was dimmer here and the temperature was marginally higher. I glanced at Jink as she slumped down in a chair next to a man who had a strange, mudlike tint to his skin. My antennae waved around, Hmm…mud, metal…herbs and blood? Who exactly was—

"What the hell is that?" An angry voice exploded from the area to my left. Turning, I took notice of the others sitting at the long conference table.

A man who looked like an empty lightbulb stuck on top of a diving suit. _That_ accounted for the smell of rubber…he was Johann Kraus. I'd heard of him before, though frankly I'd never expected him to look so…so much like those doinky little robot toys I had when I was a kid. You know, the wind-up kind? Oh, those were great, especially when they got into a corner and kept walking…_rambling again!_ Switch to the next person, Gregory.

The smell of ashes—a woman with long dark hair and a slightly horrified expression. I'd never seen her before, but the BPRD folder sitting in front of her told me that she was an agent as well.

Kate Corrigan wasn't here, unfortunately, so when you added Jink and the mudman that made up everybody in the room. Everybody, of course, except the man fuming at me from across the table and puffing cigar smoke in a toxic cloud of carcinogens.

((Benjamin Daimio. Erm…wait a second please.)) I pulled out my cards and rifled through them. The expressions of surprise and borderline disgust on everyone's faces—everyone except Jink, who was just bopping her head to music, and Johann, who had no face to read or sweat to smell—were upsetting. Was I really so unexpected? Hadn't they been told I was coming here? I'd have to explain myself before I got shot at or something equally unpleasant.

I held up four cards, one in each hand. _Hello! I'm Gregory Langelaan. / Sorry I'm late. / I was transferred to this base from the New Mexico station. / It's a pleasure to meet you all._ I could only hope that my handwriting was legible enough and that they would actually read them.

"You're the new guy?" The mudman spoke, breaking the awkward silence that had developed. I nodded slowly and pulled out two more cards from the little pile I'd set on the table, sliding the four I already had back into the deck. _Yes. / Who are you?_

He smiled. "I'm Roger! And this is Jink—" He pointed to the black-clad figure who'd escorted me inside. "—and that's Johann, and that's Liz, and that's Captain Daimio."

"Also known as Captain Zombie." Jink grinned a bit and shrugged as the captain glared at her. "What? He is a zombie."

Before I could react to that bizarre little exchange, Roger piped up. "Why do you use those cards to talk?"

_That_ was a new one. Most people tend to assume that the aphasia is a "bug thing" and leave it at that. It is, but it was still surprising that nobody thus far had gone out and explicitly asked. Roger's curiosity was refreshing and embarrassing. I turned the "yes" card over and scribbled an answer.

_My vocal cords can't make human noises. I can talk, but it sounds sort of like this:_ I passed it over to him and clicked as slowly and quietly as I could. ((It sounds like this. Hard to understand, isn't it?))

Roger considered it a bit and smiled again. "Wow."

"Can we get on track here? You—" Daimio pointed to me. "Sit down already. We're in the middle of something."

((Right. Sorry…)) I moved one of the chairs out and gingerly arranged myself in it. Having a thorax makes being in a chair hard; I've also got a different hip structure then normal people. Sitting down is uncomfortable as hell, but it can be done, and I managed to do it. Man, I was hungry…

{—)K

I can't tell you what was discussed at the meeting; that's all top-secret, don't-tell-anyone-that-isn't-involved stuff. However, I can say that it wasn't pleasant and involved lots of graphic images taken from places where the frog monsters showed up. I can also say that not many of the pictures had live people in them.

We were dismissed, and I was shown to my room. It was bigger then the place I'd last had, and nicer too. The lights had a dimmer switch so I could change how bright they wanted to be, which was great. Someone had also had the foresight to get a bed and cabinet with a lot of space underneath them; I set up my little nest (a few blankets folded and formed into a sort of ring shape) under the bed, where it was slightly warmer and more confined. I don't exactly _sleep_, but I do have lengths of time in which I rest and don't move around. This would be a great place to do that in.

Now, to find some food. That sugary scent was stronger then ever, and I swore to myself that I would find the source and have myself a good meal. After a quick check to make sure I wasn't expected anywhere else or needed for anything, I snuck out of my room and began to explore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Finally! I can update again, after a week in the frozen wilderness with NO WIFI and -2 degree temperatures… D8{ Alright, I'll stop complaining now and get on with the chapter.

{—)K

((Sugar!)) I swear that I squealed as I said that, my mandibles splaying out wildly as I crept into the kitchen. I've never been exactly…_welcome_ in the places where food is cooked, and I don't blame people for that. I mean, I _do _wash regularly, so that whole "spreading disease and pathogens" speech is a crock of it, but even still…roach plus kitchen equals angry cooks and a scared Gregory. Therefore, I only get food when nobody's watching.

I snuck past the refrigerator and stopped in the middle of the cold, slightly metallic-scented room. Where was the sugar? Normally they keep it with the flour and baking soda…all of the baking stuff is together, right? So…I'd look for the baking ingredients. A gurgling noise came from my stomach and my hunger instinct kicked into high gear; my antennae locked onto the few molecules of that wonderful, beautiful, _amazing_ smell and began roving for the source, like biological radar. I _would_ find the sugar.

I was halfway through rummaging through the pantry when I picked up some vibrations from outside the kitchen. Somebody was coming—I wasn't familiar with everyone's individual scents yet, so I didn't know who it was.

By the way people, that's a simple fact: you smell. Not necessarily good or bad, but you've got a scent associated with you that never goes away. It's made up of what you eat, the perfume and clothing you wear, how often you wash and, quite simply, _you._ Eau de human being—you're soaked in the stuff. Sounds gross, doesn't it? Trust me, it really isn't. It's a fact of life, and since there aren't too many people able to both smell and complain about it I wouldn't worry about it too much.

This person probably wouldn't take too well to seeing a cockroach rifling through the groceries, so, like the well-adapted creature I am, I skittered up the wall and onto the high ceiling. I've got these handy little ridges on the undersides of my feet; they're almost microscopic and allow me to climb up pretty much anything. Even glass, if it's not too slippery. Not to toot my own horn, but it's an awesome skill. This way, whoever was coming now would only see me if they looked up. Experience has taught me that, as long as I keep quiet and don't drool too much—sugar, sugar, sugar!

That's where it was, near the coffee maker! Right there! _Right underneath me! Leave already so I can eat! Gahhhh! Rawr!!_

Erm…sorry about that.

What was I talking about again? Oh yeah—

The person walked in; they were wearing some kind of black hat with a brim that obscured their hair. From my angle, their face was hidden as well. They smelled oddly like…well, I wouldn't say a copper wire, but almost like it. That sort of crackly, electrical odor…hey, that was familiar. Wasn't that Jink? Yeah, that was Jink! Some coincidence—she got the munchies the same time as me.

"Alright!" Jink opened the refrigerator and stuck an arm inside, pulling out a can and elbowing the door shut. "They got more Dr. Pepper!" She tossed it in the air and lightly caught it—I could see the label now. It was magnified in my hunger-sharpened eyesight, and I could see the grey of the aluminum and the…well, I can't see _red_ anymore, and it was more like another shade of grey, so—oh forget it; I could read the label even if I didn't see all the colors.

Now, the famous 23 ingredients of Dr. Pepper are pretty simple to remember. They include carbonated water, caramel color, artificial and natural flavoring, phosphoric acid, sodium benzoate (as a preservative, which is strange, since water and caramel really doesn't need to be preserved…go figure), caffeine, monosodium phosphate, lactic acid and polyethylene glycol. The main ingredient, though, the one that makes up the highest percentage of the product aside from the water, is—

((SUGAR!)) My hold on the ceiling slackened and I instantly lost my grip. The ceiling, with all its cracks and paint blemishes rapidly receded as I plummeted the distance between that and the floor. Jink dropped her can of Dr. Pepper and jumped back, swearing vehemently as I crashed to the ground, belly-up. One of my outer wings was crunched by the impact and began to hurt like _hell_.

After a few awkward seconds of stunned pain, my antennae flicked and my legs began waving around wildly. I needed to stop squishing my own wing and get to my feet. I needed to get up…but I couldn't.

Yeah, that's one of the bad things about being an insect. The capability to survive a nuclear explosion isn't worth diddly-squat if you can't flip yourself over.

I tried to push off of something, but I'd landed smack-dab in the middle of the room and there wasn't anything close enough to serve as a brace. Somebody had waxed the floor, so that was pretty useless as well. Jink was still cursing loudly, which really didn't help things in the slightest. With luck, nobody else would poke their head in and see this weird little scene.

"Fucking son of a motherless goat—oh, hey Gregory. Sorry about that…" She picked up her can of cola and put it on a nearby counter. "You kinda scared me there. I'm not going to ask why you were on the ceiling." Pushing back her hat to reveal short brown hair, my fellow agent seemed to notice something. "Hey, are you okay?"

There's only one sentence that I really, _really_ wish that I could say in English and not just cockroach-ese. One sentence, and I'd give my last nibble of sugar away if it meant I could utter it: _are you kidding me?_

That's it. Just that one sentence, because that was what I clicked wildly right then. ((Are you kidding me?! I'm flipped over on my back, and I can't get up, and I'm hungry! I'm not okay! NOT OKAY! I am the _epitome _of discomfort, the _quintessential_ not-okay person…or cockroach—oh whatever! Just flip me over, please!)) My little tantrum now complete, I stopped waving my legs around and tried not to think of Kafka.

"Uh, I can't understand you. Do you want me to just flip you over? You don't look like you can get up there."

Well, that worked too. I jerked my head forward, then back in an insect nod. By accident, I smashed the back of my skull into the tile floor. ((Ow…))

Jink cracked her knuckles and crouched down next to me. "Okay. Hold still."

{—)K

"You know, you're pretty heavy for a cockroach, Gregory." Jink cracked open her can of Dr. Pepper and sipped at it. "I figgered you'd be lighter, but you aren't. No offense," she added and wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.

((Yeah, I know. The exoskeleton really adds on weight.)) I was back on my feet, holding my own cold can of soda—good old-fashioned Coca-Cola—and trying to figure out if I should just chug down the sugary beverage or slowly drink it. I scrawled down a response on one of my cards. _None taken. Thanks for helping me out there._

"Oh, no problem!" Jink laughed and straightened her black fedora hat. "So did you have any plans or whatever? I was going to play some poker with Roger—wanna join in?"

Poker? Man…I hadn't played that since…since college. I was a mean dealer when it came to blackjack; nobody ever won when they told _me_ "hit' or "stay." I scribbled in the inch or so of white space left on the card. _Sure! I'd love to!_

**Okay, here's a challenge for you! I referenced a specific line from the works of Franz Kafka in this chapter. If you can tell me that exact line, you not only get an e-cookie, but the first person to do so will get a cameo in the next chapter! Thanks for reading! {—)K


	5. Chapter 5

**w00t! My last post of the year! Enjoy people, and have a happy new year!

I didn't exactly mean…this…oh well…)) Anxiously I stared at the spread of cards and twitched my antennae. I was sitting at a table with Jink and Roger, in an unoccupied meeting room. We weren't expecting any intrusions, which was definitely a good thing right about now since we were apparently playing…a somewhat compromising game.

As soon as we'd sat down, I'd set up the cards and we'd gotten a game of Texas hold 'em going. My poker skills were pretty rusty, but since Roger was relatively new to the game and Jink was used to playing draw poker it was okay. We used pennies as chips—luckily I had a bunch of them in my vest pocket—and Jink had won the first few rounds. Then, I'd warmed up and quickly beat both of them, swiping most of the "chips" and adding them to my pile.

We chatted a bit; I learned about how Roger was actually "born" before the Inquisition and how Jink was a ward of the BPRD as well. When coupled with Liz Sherman and Johann Kraus, that made…wow, at least a dozen agents who were in custody-of-sorts of this agency. Did the government get _all_ of their "special talent" agents this way, or did some willingly sign up for the job?

"Beats me." Jink put her feet up on the table; she'd removed her shoes to reveal purple-and-black-striped socks. "How'd you end up here anyway, Greg? Were you always…you know, the way you are?"

I wrote down a few sentences. _No…I was born a human. My metamorphosis started during my second year of college._

"Your 'metamorphosis'? Like a butterfly?" Roger scratched his head and placed his cards face down on the table. "That's new. I've never heard of that."

_Yeah. It wasn't very fun, but shit happens, as they say. Besides, it's an interesting story, and because of it I'm here at the BPRD._

Jink rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because that's _loads_ of fun now that Captain Zombie's hanging around like a bat outta hell." She scrutinized her cards and swore. "Damn. I fold."

"What does that mean again? You quit the round, right?" Roger picked up his cards and flipped them over. "I've got…a pair of jacks." He looked up at me, his yellow, iris-less eyes glowing somewhat in the bleak florescent lighting. I wondered what my beady insect eyes looked like in the glare of the lights…probably even creepier. "So…I fold too."

((No! That was good…ah well.)) I peeked at my own hand—seven quad—and shrugged with my free pair of arms. I placed my hand down for all to see.

Jink chuckled, grinning deviously. "Aw man, that looks like I lose." She'd taken off her shoes, hoodie, and hat; Roger was short footwear and his BPRD vest. I…well, I didn't have much to wear in the first place, but that's not too much of a problem with me. I'm a cockroach, and cockroaches don't really need to wear clothing.

However, people did, and I realized all too soon that Jink had already removed her nonessential articles of clothing…which meant…

((Uh…look, you don't have to…)) I tried to look the other way as Jink began wiggling out of her black long-sleeve shirt, but unfortunately I've got an almost 300-degree field of view. I can't really just ignore things. ((Why don't you just take off a belt or sock or something—))

"What the hell—?"

We all jumped in unison as Daimio swore from the doorway. I suddenly realized what this must look like: a teenage girl in the process of undressing while in the company of a hundred-year-old homunculus and a twentysomething cockroach. Thank god I can't blush…my head would have overheated, turned cherry-red and exploded.

"What the hell are you _doing?!_" The captain looked away from Jink—who was swearing as well and quickly putting her shirt and sweater back on—and glared at me and Roger. "What the fuck is this?"

((I-it's not what it looks like…oh man you can't understand me.)) I began glancing around for something to write with. ((The paper—where's the paper?! It was here just a second ago!))

"We were playing poker. _Strip poker._ You got a problem with that?" Jink was positively _snarling _at Daimio; her face was glowing with that certain shade of grey that I knew was red. "Now, if it's nothing important, get the fuck out!"

Daimio grimaced back at her. With his scarred face, the expression was that much more terrifying. "It _is_ something important, actually."

"Oh yeah? Just what is it, Captain Zombie?"

"The bug was called down to the weapons-testing room. You two also."

That did it. Unconsciously I began to hiss—I am _not_ a bug. A bug is a pest; something that takes from the environment and crowds out the native things while remaining out of control. I'm docile, harmless—maybe not to everything, but to people I am. Damnit—I try to be polite and _this_ is what I get in return?

Jink and Daimio abruptly quit their arguing. I wasn't surprised, to tell the truth. The hiss is something that I almost never use as a threat or inflection, but when I do it's pretty scary. Or so I've been told. I found the paper and pen, clicked the writing implement into service, and crisply scrawled a remark.

_We'll go. Just give us a few moments to put on the cards and redress. Next time please knock, Captain Daimio._ Jink's nickname for the captain was getting to me—I almost wrote down "Zombie" instead of his actual last name. _We'll be there shortly._

"You better be. You're already late." The captain growled and left the room, his boots rapping the tile.

{—)K

The gym was, for lack of a better choice of words, _freaking huge._ Even to someone without my insect-sized perspective it would be a big room. Various pieces of exercise equipment were set up around the perimeter of the gigantic space; we were steered past them and instead stopped in front of a row of punching bags.

Daimio motioned to the heavy bags and grinned lopsidedly. "The higher-ups are here. Show them what you can do. Don't make us look bad." With that last, muttered remark, he stalked off and stood next to a few other people in suits. I assumed they were the "higher-ups."

"I'll go first." Jink said in a bored tone. She cracked her knuckles and stood with her feet shoulder-width apart in a sturdy stance, not even bothering to take off her hat. "Alrighty. Here we go!" She stared at the punching bag in front of her, held out her hands, and—

I had to cover my antennae and eyes the best I could as a flash of bright light streaked past. When the spots had cleared from my vision I took a look at the bag. It was charred and swinging pathetically from the ceiling, its fixture half-melted. I had to remember to keep my mandibles tucked in as I glanced from the bag to the girl and back again. Wha—Jink did that? What did she just do—shoot lightning from the palms of her hands? Oh _man_ these people have strange talents…

Jink grinned and chuckled a bit. "How about that? I didn't even crack a sweat." She wacked me on the back good-naturedly. "Okay Greg. Time for you to show off."

((I don't really like showing off…)) Damn, where was the paper when I needed it? Oh yeah…I'd left it in the meeting room. Aw man; now I couldn't even politely ask if I could do this later. I was feeling sort of breathless and tired—that was strange, and it had me slightly on edge. I'm a pretty hardy guy, so when I start feeling sick it's generally not a good thing. If I was lucky it would be something I could just shrug off.

I faced the bag and mentally steeled myself. Okay, ignore the queasy feeling. It was probably the high-fructose corn syrup and saccharin that you consumed, Gregory, and not some stomach bug. Bug, haha. Punny, isn't it? Why can't people use regular sugar in things anymore? It's always "aspartimine" and "splenda" and crap like that, the stuff that isn't sugar but so maddeningly close—rambling, as usual. The bag. Attack the bag.

The distance between the punching bag and me wasn't that far—about fifteen feet—and I cleared the distance in less than a second. My six limbs latched onto the bag and I tore it off its hanger with the combined momentum and weight of the tackle. The bag toppled to the ground and I followed it down, tearing the cloth and yanking at the layers of foam and stuffing with all six of my clawed hands. When there wasn't much left for me to scratch at, I stepped back.

That queasy feeling was even worse now. Dizzily I went through the motions of a conversation, showing cards and nodding as people talked at me. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I managed to excuse myself and dart away to my room. There, I crawled under the bed and tucked myself into my little blanket-nest. I was so tired…


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, I lied when I said the last chapter was my final one of the year. Still, that isn't too bad, huh? ^,,^

I'm starting to speed things up a bit and get into the action. Please keep on reading and reviewing!

When I became aware of my surroundings some indefinite time later, I became aware of two important things.

One, that queasy feeling was gone.

Two, I couldn't move.

Have you ever been sick, like that kind of sick when you feel like your insides are being smooshed and it hurts to do pretty much anything besides breathe shallowly and, well, stay alive?

You haven't? Oh.

Well…I was that kind of sick, and it really wasn't fun. Even twitching my antennae hurt too much—that's a _really_ bad sign. I never stop waving my antennae around…well, unless you count now. What was going on here, anyway? I'd never experienced this kind of thing before—ah god my head hurt! Owowowowow…

{—)K

Once again, I became aware of my surroundings some unknown amount of time later. Somebody was tapping on my door; the sound felt like somebody was setting off firecrackers inside my brain. My antennae twitched and scraped against the bottom of the bed.

"Hey Greg! Why'd you run off?" It was Jink's voice, but the heavy pounding of the knocks suggested that it was someone else beating the tar out of the door. Roger maybe? I hope so…I don't know many people here well enough to really…you know, trust them.

"Greg? Hey Greg! Hellloooo?"

Okay, time to talk.

I managed to get out an agonized, shrill squeak that hurt both my throat and antennae as I made it. It sounded more like an "eeeeeeeeaaaakkkkk" noise then what I intended, which was something along the lines of ((I can't move…help? Pweese?)) Pathetic, I know, but I was really, _really_ hurting right about now.

The pounding stopped. There was a few moments of silence, then Jink's voice came. She sounded a bit hesitant. "Gregory, are you okay?"

One more squeak. C'mon…one tiny squeak. Can I do it—yeah! There you go. This time I was even able to lift my head up a bit and free my mandibles, so I could actually talk. Not that it really helped much, since no one would be anble to understand me. Still, gotta count your blessings, right? Yeah, right.

"Is that a yes or a no, man? I can't understand you…"

((Ow! I'm…open the door please! I can't move…)) I tried to crawl out from behind the bed. Honest to god I did, but it didn't work out. At best, I managed to lift up one arm at a time and clutch at the warm fabric of the blanket underneath me. Sleep sounds like a great idea—but wait. I don't sleep…okay, that's just weird. Now I'm getting loopy? _That's_ not a good sign.

"You're kinda freaking us out, Greg. Me and Roger, right now."

"Yeah." Roger spoke up, his deeper voice vibrating through the door. "Can you open the door?"

((I…trying. I can't.))

"Gregory?"

((I'm sorry! I can't!))

The two of them began talking in low voices; I couldn't pick up on what they were saying except for the occasional "what?" or "maybe."Just a word to the wise here: don't _ever_ do that when the person you're talking about is nearby. It's just plain rude, and makes them worry. Seriously, why can't I move? This can't be good, or even caused by eating bad sugar…

"Okay, Gregory? We're gonna bust the door down if you don't open it. So…if you're doing any insect-kinda stuff…don't do it. Okay?"

This time I couldn't even click a response.

"Alright. One…two—last chance, man. Please? Please…?" She sighed and muttered the last few words dejectedly. "Three."

The door literally blew off its hinges as a flash of bright light illuminated the room. Jink had busted the door alright, I thought queasily just before the light faded. I wonder what they'd do now…


	7. Chapter 7

**Here you go! First update of the New Year! W00t! Thanks to IzzydaWolfeGrrl for reading and reviewing my story! You gets an e-cookie!

{—)K

This whole "waking up and not knowing how long you've been unconscious" thing really isn't working out. When I snapped out of my stupor for the third time, I wasn't even in my room. At least, it didn't _look_ like my room…everything was blurry and unfocused so that nearby objects turned into blobs of faded colors. It was hard to guess exactly what I was staring down at; I think it was a medical table of some kind, with the silver color and the metallic gleam. Yeah, that makes sense. A table.

But wait…what am I doing on a medical table? That doesn't make sense…

"You got any idea what's wrong with Gregory?" Roger's voice boomed right above my head. For some reason, his voice was muffled, like I had earmuffs on or my ears were stuffed full of cotton. That, luckily, is impossible. I don't have _ears_ per se—I just have these teeny-tiny holes in the sides of my head and my antennae to pick up sounds with. You can't really plug those up with anything.

Come to think of that—there are my antennae! They were drooping down in front of my head and looked…just strange. I can't really describe it; they looked and felt _odd_.

A soft, female voice spoke as a hand rested on my back. "Nothing like this is documented in his file, so honestly I can't say."

What—_who was this person?!_ I didn't recognize that voice, or whatever scent I managed to pick up. Automatically I switched into freaked-out-cockroach-person mode and tried to squirm away from the unknown contact. That pretty much failed miserably, so instead I hissed as loudly and as long as I could.

Which was about…oh…two seconds at a barely-audible volume. Great.

"Hey! He's awake!" A brownish blob entered my field of vision. "Gregory! Are you okay? What's wrong?"

((Get. Personaway.)) Now my mouthparts were numb. Not good. Notgoodnotgoodnotgoodnotgood. ((Can't...help?)) I twitched my legs a bit, ignoring how uncomfortable it was. I felt like I was getting _crushed_, not just squished, and it was the worst feeling I've ever felt.

"Here—here's paper. And a pen." A white and black blob were shoved in my face. "Can you write anything?" Roger actually pulled one of my hands forward, placing the pen in my open palm.

I rotated my hand and made a little squiggle on the paper. Not much of a message. I let my hand flop down against the table and relaxed. Jeez…this was getting annoying. Please let some answers turn up soon…

{—)K

I think you know by now that I kept bobbing in and out of consciousness like an apple in a bucket of tar. Occasionally I'd take notice of my surroundings and try to interact with them—there were a few doctors, but generally Roger and Jink came and went and tried to get me to "wake up." It made me feel terrible, making them worry, but what could I do? All I was capable of doing was lying there and…and _waiting_ for something. I didn't know what, but it was pretty important and worth all of this trouble.

An idea was growing slowly in the back of my mind, like some mold on the side of a trashcan. How long had it been since I transformed, a few years? That sounded about right. Okay, so that means that it's been a while. Now, there's something that cockroaches do every few months or years…damn, I really should have watched the discovery channel when I was younger. WWE was just more entertaining.

What is it that I'm trying to remember? It's there, right on the tip of my synapse, but god I can't think of it.

{—)K

"Hey, bug."

What now? Is that _Daimio?_ Woah…how long have I been like this? If Daimio is starting to visit that means…jeez, I don't even want to think about it.

"Hey bug, get up already." His voice was rough. "You've spent enough time lazing around. There's work to do."

_Lazing around._ You'd think I was sprawled on a couch, watching "Joe's Apartment" or something like that by the way he said that. Joe's Apartment…that's one old movie. Old, but funny as hell—people should really watch it more.

"Come on. Get up already." Daimio waited a bit, then swore and walked away. Sadly, I went back to being unaware. There's a certain amount of Zen involved in it, you know, like meditation and the like. Peaceful, even though it's confusing and monotonous as hell.

{—)K

It was time. Just like that—something buried deep in my insect brain told me that it was time to get up and _go_. This exoskeleton was way too confining, though, so how was I going to get up—that wasn't a problem! Just get _up and at 'em! Up and at 'em! Come on! MOVE!_

I tell you, these instincts are pretty freaking bizarre. It's like having a hyperactive, borderline psychotic voice in your head; it gets really excited at strange things like garbage or light and won't leave you alone. You learn to listen when it's important but usually you just tune it out.

Well, right now was one of the important times.

That crushing feeling was still there, but it was less severe. My exoskeleton felt sort of crispy and crackly, like very dry wood that breaks when you snap it over your knee. Almost like when it was first growing, and it was soft and so tight—

If I could have laughed, I would have gone into a maniacal fit of the giggles right then as I realized what was happening. How the hell didn't I know what was going on!? I was _molting!_ _That_ was what I'd been going through; I'd outgrown my current shell and had been growing a new one underneath the old one! That was done, so now all that I had to do was wriggle out of it and _bammo,_ the paralysis and breathlessness are gone. All I had to do was break out of this prison of an exoskeleton.

Letting the instincts rise up to the front of my thoughts—they knew what to do here, and that was fine. I began jerking around, actually feeling my new skin slipping and sliding over the old one. Eww…

No, stop it Gregory. No time to be squeamish—this is nature. Deal with it and be grossed out after. I stabbed up with my arms and wings and heard a dull cracking noise. Liberation—now, squeeze yourself out of here! Go, go, go!

{—)K

In a nutshell, I squirmed out of the old exoskeleton and beat feet out of there, sheet-white and squishy as a ghost. I know for a fact that I freaked out a few people when I skittered past, but it was okay—I'd apologize later. All that mattered was getting to a safe place.

In record time, I rushed to my room…and saw that the door was still knocked off its hinges. They hadn't fixed the door…alright then, time for plan B: hide somewhere else.

Now, don't be offended when I say that I won't tell you my hiding places. That's a roach's greatest secret—where they hide when people show up. Let's just say that it was high up, the kind of space that would go _over your head_, you know…like a ceiling space? Yeah, I think that's enough for you.

I settled down and began checking myself for any wounds. Ugh, I was so smooshy…like a jellyfish…

{—)K

A few hours later, I'd turned a light tan color and was feeling not as vulnerable. I poked my head out of the crawlspace and scanned the perimeter. Nobody was here, but there was a smell of people; my senses were on the fast track to getting back to normal, which was excellent. Why would there be a people-scent…? Oh, maybe they'd been here already. Hey, would you look at that?

Down there, on the ground, was a plate of sugar and a post-it note. Gingerly I picked up the note and read it:

_Leach said that you hid up in the ceiling. Here ya go—you better tell me what happened. –Jink._

Heh…well, that was going to be interesting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Kewlio! Izzy and I have agreed to use our characters in each other's stories, so if you're reading this, I highly suggest you go and read Electricity, by IzzydaWolfeGrrl. It's really good!

Also, I've sketched a little picture of Gregory, for those of you who might be wondering what he looks like. Just go onto deviantART and search for "Olo-Doorbell" (that's my account) and it should be there. ^,,^

{—)K

They'd replaced my door and installed new hinges in place of the melted ones, I discovered happily. It probably didn't come cheap, judging by the quality of the fixtures. I rubbed my antennae against the stained wood and metal, feeling the grain and tasting the fibers a bit. Yup—definitely good quality. That was really nice of them, wasn't it?

It's somewhat embarrassing to describe how I felt right then. I'd nibbled at the plate of sugar when I found it, then cleaned my antennae after—they get dirty pretty easily, so I give them a once-over every hour or so—chittering a bit to make sure my mandibles hardened correctly. (Instincts talking again; I didn't know that they could harden anything _but_ correctly.) I felt…soft, smushy, and almost fluffy. Not just in a literal way. Sentimental…yeah, that's it. Sentimental. I felt bubbly and happy, and why not? I had a brand-new exoskeleton! I was okay now! Yay!

Through the door, I could feel vibrations in my room and hear the crackle of taped conversation, tinny from being amplified through cheap speakers. Someone—a few someones, actually—were inside; a quick flick of my antennae revealed that it was Jink and Johann. Hmm…that was interesting. What would they be doing in my room? I listened for a few more seconds to the taped noise and my heart fluttered a bit—well, figuratively at least. (My circulatory system is like a giant tube that pulses, with smaller tubes branching off. No heart or blood vessels, per se.) I recognized all of that conversation.

((Wait—don't go through those tapes! Please!)) I turned the doorknob and shouldered the door inside. Jink was holding a handful of blankets from my nest, staring at the tiny television and VCR system that had been hooked up in a corner of the room. A video had been put in the player and an image was dancing on the TV, just skirting the edge of screen snow.

"_Whatcha doing, Lisa-annie?" The camera jumped a bit as a redheaded girl looked up from a veritable mountain of looseleaf paper and textbooks. One book was closed so that its cover was visible: DSM-IV._

"_Oh, you know, studying." She grinned. "You should try it sometime."_

"_I should." The camera was placed on a flat surface nearby and a brown-haired man entered the camera shot. "But it's just too much fun watching you study." He sprawled out on the desk, blinking up at the young woman. "Or at least, trying to study."_

"_Gregory—stop that!" Anelisa laughed. "Come on already—I've got a test tomorrow!"_

"_Test, smesht. Why don't we—"_

I clicked the television off, abruptly shutting off the video and ignoring Jink's hurried "oh, sorry man! I was just looking, and Johann found them…." Carefully, I removed the tape and walked over to the box on the bed, where it had been taken out. After checking to make sure the rest of the set—about two dozen—was there, I closed the box and tucked it into the cabinet almost reverently. Nothing bad should happen to them; they were my memories.

Johann's fishbowl of a head inclined slightly. "The tapes…they are very important to you, aren't they?"

From another drawer in the cabinet, I pulled out more cards. _Yes. They're very important. _I hesitated a few moments to pull my thoughts together, than began scribbling again. _They're from before_

"Greg!" Jink caught me in a tackle-hug. "I'm glad you woke up—oh eww you're squishy…" She shrunk back a bit. "Are you okay? You changed color…what happened, man?"

I jotted down a few sentences. _I molted. My exoskeleton got too small, so I shed it. I'm a bit soft right now, but the new exoskeleton will harden soon. I'm fine, really._ I gave that card for her to read, then finished writing up the previous note card and passed it to Johann. _before I turned. Please don't touch them again without asking; they're extremely precious to me._

Johann was the first to finish reading his card. "Ah. I understand." He gestured around the room. "We cleaned the room, after the men who installed the door left. A great many things were upset…"

I picked up one of my laminated cards and showed it to them both. _Thank you._

"It is not a problem." The ectoplasmic man nodded a bit. "I apologize, but I have to leave—there is other work to be done…" His head bobbed a bit as he left, a thin stream of gas escaping his suit. I waved as he vanished down the hall. ((Okay! Bye.))

Jink watched him go, and then turned to me. "So…molting?"

I nodded. ((Yep. Molting. Sounds gross, doesn't it?))

"Sounds kinda gross." Jink gave an all-over shudder. "Did it hurt?"

I shrugged. To tell the truth, I wasn't sure—it was uncomfortable as hell when I was lying there, getting crushed by my own skin. It was the worst feeling I'd ever felt, but when I thought about it…it wasn't painful. At least, not the kind of pain that you get from crunching a finger or getting punched. I flipped through my pile of index cards and found the one I was looking for. _Sort of. _I picked out another. _It's a long story._

Jink fumbled with the cuff of her hoodie, fixing it a bit and pulling at the parts of the fabric that were beginning to fray. "Oh. Wanna talk it out over some pop?"

{—)K

It turned out that I'd been…invalid…for about two days, give or take. Daimio had showed up after I'd been out for almost fifteen hours, while Liz and Johann had been around before that. Jink and Roger had been near the place where I was kept for pretty much the entire time. It was…touching, actually. I won't lie; I didn't know these people for very long, but they still cared.

A figure with long dark hair, almost the same shade of Jink's, sauntered in around the time I'd finished my cola. The young woman filled a BPRD mug with coffee and sat down at our table. She seemed nonplussed at being less than three feet from me; that was a good sign, and she rose in my estimations.

"So you're the Gregory kid." Her tone beat out the wording of that remark, turning the question into a statement.

I nodded and slid a scrap of paper across the table. _Yes. _I remembered what I'd heard about her from the meeting and added a few more words. _You're Miss Sherman?_

"It's Liz."

_Not Elizabeth?_

She grimaced. "It's Liz. Not _Elizabeth_ or _Miss Sherman_ or any of that. Just Liz." Quietly she rummaged in the pocket of her dark overcoat, withdrawing a carton of cigarettes. She tipped out one of the whitish cylinders and replaced the carton; I noticed that she had no lighter. That was strange…was she going to

"So, you think you'll be back to normal soon?" Liz lit her cigarette with a flame from her hand, taking a drag and raising an eyebrow at my antennae-flick of surprise. "Able to go up against the frogs?"

Almost as if in response, sirens began to go off and red lights began flashing. Liz cursed a bit, stubbing out her cig an ashtray and getting to her feet. Something was up—most likely reports of a frog attack were coming in.

Silently I swore to myself; I could only hope that my exoskeleton was hardened enough and that Liz was right. It sounded like we'd be sent on a big job.


	9. Chapter 9

**Well, it's back to the daily school grind for me, which means fewer updates per week. ,, Still, I'll do what I can. Here's an action chapter for you—it's not my strong suit, so feedback would be welcome! Tell me what I'm doing wrong, or right, or whatever; it helps me get better and I appreciate it! ^,,^

{—)K

Turns out it _was_ a big mission, as I'd predicted. Not only that, but it was in the underground system—subways and sewers, apparently. I shouldn't complain; I had the advantage over most of the frog creatures and almost all of my fellow agents. (Not to toot my own horn, of course.) Human beings are sight-oriented, and when that sight is taken away—say, by the confined inky blackness of a subway tunnel and the absence of a flashlight—they're pretty helpless. My eyesight may be worse then a normal human's, but I've also got heightened smell, touch, even taste, and that really helps when fighting in the dark. Insects have adapted to use more then one sense at once, and cockroaches in particular have an affinity for the dark. Score one for evolution.

Carefully I crawled up onto the wall and continued my trek from there. The instincts were hammering at the back of my noggin again, telling me that this was _not_ a good time to seek altercation. The correct, smartest, most logical thing to do would be to sneak away and crawl under some space until I'd fully hardened and _not_ rush into battle against mutated bad-1950s-film-monster rejects, and therefore save my still-soft skin.

Oh, who am I kidding? They were yelling _get the fuck out of here! Danger! DANGER! HIDEHIDEHIDE!_

"Holy fuck—" One of the other agents swore as his flashlight beam illuminated me for a second, stuck on the wall like a demented piece of modern art. I reached into my vest and flashed my BPRD badge before he could fumble for his gun. I don't like getting shot at, _especially_ when the bullets wouldn't just bounce off this time.

"Chill, he's one of us." Jink sent a spark floating the man's way and he hurried off down the tunnel. My friend fell into a 90-degree lockstep with me, matching every three of my steps with one of her own. She pointed her flashlight at a spot of wall above me, careful to not blind me with the light. "You okay Greg?"

I paused and groped for a note card and a pen. My writing was atrocious, but still legible. _Yes. On edge, but fine. I'm going to have to be careful on this one, though._

Jink's eyes narrowed. "Why would you have to be—oh. Why do you have to come along on this one then? It's just a nest, and they haven't gotten _that_ much smarter."

I wrote a few words, chittered at how messy they were, scribbled them out, and wrote them down again. _Subway systems and sewers are my home turf, remember? Cockroach heaven. _I drew a smiley face with its tongue sticking out, resorting to doodles to get my message across. _Besides, I'm saving up my sick days._

"Sure, because randomly popping out of your skin like it's a tight pair of pants isn't—"

"Contact! We got contact!" It was the man who'd jumped when he saw me. The poor guy was _extremely_ jumpy now; with a pang of sadness and pity I smelled blood on him and remembered that he'd gone ahead with two other people, who weren't with him now. He twisted around and fired his gun into the dark. "A whole group of them—argh!"

The barrel-flash of the gun illuminated a slimy tongue writhing out of the dark, the frog's teeth and face following just after. Before it could wrap itself around him and poison him I scampered onto the ceiling, standing up upside-down and grabbing the kid out of the way. The frog keened and snatched at the air, a second too late—I'd dropped him behind the relative safety of Jink and Roger before the blow struck. I could only hope that he wasn't hurt…

Gunshots and the crack of rifle metal on bones echoed weirdly in the subway tunnel. My antennae were going crazy, trying to determine the source of the seemingly endless barrage of noise and motion, but there was simply too much going on to process at once. In the chaos, people dropped their flashlights and began firing wildly, using the off-kilter streams of light and the small explosions of their previous gunshots to aim by. I didn't have a gun—I simply leaped onto the nearest frog creature I saw and began tearing at it, a whirlwind of clawed hands and mandibles. Something snapped and an acrid taste coated the inside of my mouth; I spit out a mixture of the foul substance and my own saliva and mechanically moved onto the next one.

Their rough, almost barbed tongues whipped out at me, trying to worm in past the joints of my exoskeleton and shred the tissue underneath. I jumped onto the wall again and continued fighting from there, trusting that the bizarre angle of attack would hold them off for a few extra seconds. I guessed wrong—they simply clawed up at the wall and tried to grab me by the antennae. I tucked those back, safely out of the way.

Sparks zinged somewhere near my head—Jink? No—a bullet, narrowly missing my head. They were shooting at me! Not on purpose, but by accident. It didn't matter; a mistaken bullet could kill just as well as an intended one. Flattening myself against the cold concrete of the tunnel and cringing down, I tried to figure out who was aiming for me and screech at them to stop.

((Hey, watch it! You'll hit me!)) Just as I squeaked that a bit of shrapnel tore into my soft underbelly. Pain blossomed like a masochistic flower and I keened, scrabbling for a hold on the wall with my foremost and rear legs while the middle pair folded in, pressing against the wound. I could feel hot liquid leaking out of me; my own blood, not quite clear but not red enough to startle those it dripped on. Well, at least that was a relief…

Involuntarily I was hissing, in pain and insect rage. My outer wings flew up as I half-jumped, half-fell to the ground, standing up and lashing out at the waiting circle of frogs around me. Instinct bubbled up and all my senses sharpened, the pain of my hurt stomach receding into the background of awareness. Luckily, though, I managed to keep it in check. If I bugged out now (pardon the pun) I would be no better then the frog monsters, and that would get me killed. I had to fight by gut _and_ head to get out of this one.

The frogs found the soft membranes of my inner wings fascinating. Skirting the edge of downright idiocy, I used them as a lure, vibrating them to draw the frogs in within easy reach. When they came close enough—_snap!_ I folded my hard outer wings back in, clipping them on the head and knocking them out. After a few repetitions of this trick I'd cleared half of the group, but the ones that were left had caught on.

Jink was wrong…they _were_ getting smarter.

So smart, in fact, that they turned tail and fled, vanishing down the winding complex of tunnels and drains until all that remained were the stragglers, too wounded to escape. One of them hissed at me as I limped past—the wetness of blood had soaked much of my lower body, my six joints were quaking—and was silenced by a bullet from Daimio's gun. He swore, and I didn't know if it was at me or them.

"Fucking things…they ran off. We'll have to go after them."

"There's no way. There's too many wounded." Liz—bless her—grimaced and said the exact thing that was on my mind. "Daimio, we've got wounded." Her tone was pressing, rough with anger and pain.

In the dim glow of the few flashlights that had survived the fighting and the muck, Daimio's face took on a grotesque, ghoulish tint. He swore again. "Damn."

{—)K

((Jink—Roger. Are you okay?)) I skittered unsteadily towards the BPRD truck where Jink sat and Roger stood, her leg bandaged and her hair tousled. Her hat was gone—oh no, it wasn't. It just sat next to her in the backseat, a bit dirty but none the worse for wear. Unlike me…no. Worry about the others first, then get a band-aid for the cuts. It can't be that bad; you'll live. How are _they_, Gregory? That's more important then how _you_ are.

"Hey Greg." Jink winced as she shifted over in the backseat to allow me to inch closer to the two of them. Roger, I noticed, had only a few cuts and bruises—thank god. Whoever it was that made him was good at his craft…I'd never seen anyone so durable. Almost as tough as the famed Hellboy. His yellow eyes flicked first to my face, then my folded arms, now weakly pressing against the deep gouges.

"You're hurt."

((Y-yeah. I'm fine I'll…)) Things listed precariously to the side as one of my knees folded and almost gave out. Apparently I'd bled more then I thought. Clumsily I reached inside the pocket of my vest—how that had stayed on, I had no clue—and pulled out a card. My hand was trembling as I held it up in the dying sunlight; it was the late afternoon when we ventured into the underground. _Are you okay?_

Roger nodded; Jink flashed a peace sign. I couldn't help but tilt my head at that. A peace sign? After this…? How was that possible…oh well. They were okay, and that was the main thing.

"Here—Greg c'mere. You're hurt." Jink gestured for me to come closer. She sighed exasperatedly when I didn't come closer, out of fear of jostling her hurt leg. "It's just a cut, man. I'll be fine. You won't be unless you get that checked out. Seriously, you look like you're going to puke and then faint, and it's pretty damn hard to read your expression."

((O-oh.)) My clicks were faint. ((Wow.))

{—)K

A few minutes—and stings of rubbing alcohol—later, I was slumped in the backseat with Jink. The bleeding had increased from a steady stream to a pulsing river when Jink had pushed my legs out of the way to see the full extent of the wound. Cussing a bit, she'd called for a medic, and the rest is painful, slightly-fuzzy-with-weariness history. They did manage to stop the bleeding and patch up the long, parallel cuts in my stomach, but I was giddy and unsteady from blood loss by the time they did it. I'm not too surprised; the medical teams at the BPRD are top-notch, but none of them really know insect anatomy. Then again, neither do I, so that's not an indication of anything…

Rambling. I never stop doing that, do I?

The truck turned a corner when I least expected it. Wearily the agents in the truck shifted their weight or held onto their seats while the vehicle tilted, staying upright with little to no effort. I, however, numbly slid in my seat and began toppling over, landing with my head resting on Jink's shoulder. The young girl flinched in surprise and I inwardly cursed at myself. Why hadn't I grabbed at the coat hangar thing just above the window?

Oh…right.

Embarrassed, I tried to upright myself, but only succeeded in waving my legs around uselessly and twitching into a slightly more vertical position. Jink chuckled a bit and patted my shoulder. "It's okay man. Just rest."

Just rest…that sounded good.

**Wow! This is a long chapter for me! OwO Hopefully it'll tide you guys over until I can write the next one. Please remember to review, and above all go check out Electricity, the companion fanfic (of sorts) to this one by IzzydaWolfeGrrl. Good night, everyone! {—)K


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry about the delays between chapters; I've got stage crew, schoolwork and twenty other things to juggle around, besides writing this story. Well, enough with the complaining—on to the writing!

{—)K

I must have zoned out, because I was startled into alertness by the light, rhythmic impacts of someone tapping on the side of my head. Whatever was causing this had a good sense of beat; the dull _thunks_ of something small and hard against exoskeleton reminded me of a good reggae or calypso song. My antennae began swishing in time, conducting the music that began to echo inside my head. Hmm…something soulful, like Bob Marley, perhaps. Maybe "Trench Town" or "Three Birds." I did love his music, though lately I hadn't listened to any of it—I can't use headphones or iPods and that genre of music had fallen out of favor. If I was lucky, I might catch a song playing on the radio, but it was very rare.

Right. That tapping noise. Slowly I straightened up—eesh, I was still dizzy—and looked around, eyesight just a tiny bit bleary. The tapping had mysteriously vanished, and as I looked around I could find no logical source. Oh well. It wasn't that annoying, anyway. My attention turned to the rest of my surroundings.

The BPRD truck had stopped moving and there were fewer people in the confined space. In fact, Jink and Roger were nowhere to be found, though since Jink's iPod was lying on the seat next to me I assumed that they weren't that far away. It appeared that we weren't back at the base quite yet; a quick glance out of the window revealed that we'd pulled up at what appeared to be a truck stop, the kind with a few tiny, dirty bathrooms and vending machines full of chips and tepid drinks. Liz was standing outside, smoking a cigarette and watching the cars fly by. I waved languidly at her and she raised a hand in return, exhaling a smoke ring and grinning.

A card. _Where are we?_

The driver—the only one in the truck other then me—looked in the rear-view mirror and popped the bubble gum they had been chewing. The scent of chicle and mint wafted over to me, and my mandibles clacked in appreciation. "We're just off the freeway. We've been stuck in traffic for the fast three hours."

Wincing in sympathy for the young woman—she had that not-enough-sleep-too-much-coffee look that you often see on the faces of commuters—I felt around for another card. It took a while to get the two I wanted; while I was asleep I'd left the inside pocket of my vest open, allowing for the cards to tumble out onto the floor. _Really? / Why?_

"People had to stop to go to the bathroom and smoke a cigarette." She shrugged and fiddled with the mirror affixed to the windshield. I could see a tiny bit of my head reflected in the glass—my exoskeleton had darkened to a deep brown-red, almost like stained mahogany. That was much better, in my opinion, then my previous rust-red, though it was a strange thing to look at. I looked down at my hurt abdomen—the bandages were still stuck fast—and shrugged all of my limbs. I'd get used to this, I figured, as soon as I tried out the new exoskeleton and found out how it fit.

Careful to avoid the black iPod and headphones next to me, I scooted over and opened the door. The distance between the floor of the truck and the ground was more then I'd expected, and I almost tripped and fell over as I exited the backseat. The driver watched me go and politely shrugged, as if to say _be my guest._

For a truck stop, this was rather nice: the highway flanked one side of the squat, brick building but the opposite side overlooked a wild, tangled forest of maple trees and shrubs. Beyond the trees, mountains could be seen, and the scent of pine and fresh air breezed past my antennae on the wind. This was one of the best things about Colorado; no matter where you were, it still managed to look wide-open and untamed. Even the manhole cover three feet to my left did nothing to ruin the scenery.

I pulled out a note card (_How are you?_) and began walking over to Liz, intending to go and ask her how she was doing. As I passed the manhole cover, though, something made me pause and pay more attention to the unimposing marker.

The metal was pockmarked and discolored, riddled with faint, almost invisible scratches. A quiet gurgling noise drifted out from around its perimeter as someone turned on a faucet in the bathroom. That same, random desire to inspect this thing grew stronger and I crouched down, dropping my note card and ignoring when a gust of wind came up and blew it away. There was something…interesting about this particular manhole cover, something that I couldn't place or identify and that was almost…enchanting. A few of the brain cells that weren't fully occupied with analyzing the three-foot-diameter of iron began sparking; trying to figure out what the hell was going on. That tapping was back, even faster then ever. Music blared inside my head, but it wasn't any song I recognized. It wasn't even music…more like chanting, in a language I didn't know.

My antennae brushed up against the surface and I shuddered, a feeling like an electrical shock passing through me. I almost felt the thing _vibrate_ when I touched it with a clawed hand, tracing the barely-readable words stamped on it with an almost tender touch that scared me just a little. I didn't know what I was doing or why I was doing it—all that mattered was that it was incredibly important. Please god let it not be that I'm molting again…

Something smelled; not trash, muck, or waste, but something…well, not something _good_, but something just as perplexing and bewitching as the other quality to this mundane thing that had me glued to it like it was made of sugar. A warm cloud of air rose up and enveloped my head, coating my antennae and eyes with that bizarre smell.

Raw, unbridled instinct suddenly surged and my arms acted against my will, tearing the manhole cover up and throwing it to the side. It twirled through the air like an overgrown Frisbee and smacked against the side of the building, at least twenty feet away. Before I knew what I was doing, I was on all six of my legs, somehow squeezing myself into the impossibly tiny space and crawling down into the dark depths.

**ooh, a cliffhanger! Good night everybody! ^,,^


	11. Chapter 11

**I know that it's been a while since my last update—blame school and extracurricular activities. This chapter will end that nasty cliffhanger I left you with, but will also hopefully bring up some new questions to replace the old ones. Enjoy!

{—)K

I don't know _what_ drew me onward; I simply tracked the invisible trail of scent through the confined, dirty pipes, only using my sense of smell to determine where I should turn or what to avoid in the sewer system. There was very little oxygen here, but for as long as I could withstand the stale air I knew that it wouldn't deter me. The farther in I went, the more I began to doubt that something as trivial as that would actually be enough to halt my unwilling journey. Whatever lay in wait in the sewers, it was both precious and terrible enough to pull me in, almost yanking me forward by the antennae.

As the source of that smell drew near, the odor got stronger until, finally…

I wriggled out of the pipe—I was slippery with muck and other things that I _really_ didn't want to identify—and crawled out into a cavernous, open space. How big it actually was, I had no idea, but I guessed that it was at least the size of the building aboveground. The lack of surfaces to grasp onto set my insect brain on edge; I had nothing to go on but total darkness and that scent that was flooding this space. It was dizzying, how abundant it was—I could almost taste it.

Though the pipe I had been crawling in seemed to empty runoff water into this particular part of the sewer, there were still areas that were surprisingly dry, scattered about like islands in a smelly sea. I scurried through the knee-deep slime and came to rest on one of these. My antennae waved around in the total darkness; I located the one point where the scent was the strongest. Shakily I called out. ((Hello?)) The short sequence of clicks reverberated in the cavern, weirdly distorted and alien. ((_hello?...hello?...hello?...hello?))_

Splashing and scraping sounds come from somewhere in front of me. It was as if something roughly my size was moving about, taking a good look at me. I shivered and moved to the center of the dry space, thinking about how shipwrecked sailors must feel when they look over the edge of their raft and see sharks circling below. Again I chittered, my mandibles shivering a bit. ((H-hello? Anyone?))

((You aren't an echo.))

The voice clicked to my immediate left. Awkwardly I jumped away, tripped on something in the murky blackness and fell backwards into the sewer water. I spluttered and flipped over, clambering to my feet and turning to face where I _thought_ the voice came from. ((What—what are you? Hello?))

A slight, contemplative pause. ((Yep. Not an echo.)) The voice seemed to be coming from just in front of me. ((This is new. Who are you?))

((Y-you tell me who you are first. And how do you understand me?)) My brain was buzzing; how could this other voice be talking? How could there even be another voice? To the best of my knowledge, nothing else made the same kind of sounds that I did, much less in a way that I could actually interpret as a language. Could it be…? No, it couldn't be that. I was the only one of my kind…right?

((You mean my name?)) Again, the voice was just in front of me.

((Yeah…if you have one…)) I gulped at the carbon-dioxide-laden air, lightheaded from fear. Or was that lack of oxygen? I didn't know. ((I…I'm Gregory. Gregory Langelaan.))

((Oh. Hi Gregory. Just give me a second. I don't really remember my name.))

How could this voice be so _calm,_ so _flat? _You'd think we were at a town hall meet-and-greet, by the tone of their voice. Tentatively I reached out and poked at the darkness. My fist made contact with something hard and rough—the same texture as my exoskeleton.

Wonder and astonishment swooped up in my throat, pulling my heart and stomach along with it. Vaguely I thought that this _couldn't_ be happening—I must have been really hurt in that fight, I was out cold in the BPRD truck and hallucinating this. Insect dreams…but that didn't account for the smell and the gross squishing of waste under my feet. This was too real to be a dream.

The shape moved a bit father away from me. Quickly I drew my hand in. ((I'm sorry…))

((No, it's fine. It's new, having someone else here. I'm Morgan, by the way. I can't remember my last name.)) A small hand felt at the side of my head, narrowly avoiding the delicate spheres of my eyes and rubbing up against the nubs where my antennae met with my head. The contact of another insect's exoskeleton against my own was bizarre and yet strangely thrilling. The instincts cheered but I clamped down on them until they quit. Now was _not the time_.

((You're like me. A bug.))

((Not—)) Oh, come on, did the technicalities matter? I was talking to another person like me! ((Yeah. Yeah, I'm a bug now. I wasn't always, though—I was human until a year or so ago—))

A click of affirmation cut in. Morgan quietly spoke. ((Me too. I was an intern…)) A choked noise came; something crunched and I smelled the acrid tang of bone. ((But now I'm not. Where did you come from?))

((I work for the BPRD. You know the BPRD, right? The frog creatures, supernatural things?))

((Not really,)) More crunching and cracking noises came as Morgan munched on something. She—by now, I was assuming that she was a girl—didn't stop to offer me anything, but that was fine; food probably wasn't easy to come by here in the sewer, and I guessed that she'd been down here for quite a while. Finally, a gulping noise came and she continued her sentence. ((I was never into the government stuff. Never watched the news.))

I laughed. ((Yes—I was like that. And now look.)) I thought of something. ((Hey—why don't you come with me, back out into the open? At the BPRD, they'll take care of you—of us. They did with me…what do you say?))

She took a while to answer, so long in fact that I thought that I had said something wrong. The silence was heavy and stifling as the smelly, hot, musty air down here. Strangely, her words didn't seem to lessen that in the slightest. ((I…I like it here. How it's dark. I don't have to see myself, and what I've become. I couldn't find out. I'd be too scared…))

Something was pressed into my top pair of hands, something leathery and heavy. Rather then let it fall into the water I curled my arms around it, hugging it close and feeling slight movements under its surface. I rubbed my antennae against it; it smelled somewhat like her but also of something else, no less transfixing but still different. ((What is this?))

((I—I don't know. I…I _laid_ it, like an egg.)) Morgan's voice was oddly loud, the clicks seeming forced and strained. I imagined her shifting uncomfortably in the dark and reached out for her, wanting to comfort my kindred spirit. She wasn't anywhere near me—I couldn't feel around for her without dropping this strange object.

More splashing sounds came—she was moving away from me. ((Just…get rid of it, whatever it is. Take it away and go back aboveground. I don't want to have it here. I don't want _you_ here. Just leave me alone…))

((No! Morgan—Morgan, please. Come back with me. They're working on a cure for us—the BPRD is working on a cure. They can fix us, Morgan! Please, _please_ come up to the outside with me.)) The idea of a cure was a lie—I hadn't heard of the scientists doing anything but studying the frog threat and doubted that they'd be doing anything else—but I had to keep her talking. She needed someone to talk to her, or she'd be lost. That I knew, with a deeper knowledge then even my instincts could tell me.

((What about this thing here? This…this egg case?)) I rubbed its surface gently and spoke. ((I think that's what it is, Morgan. It's eggs—you'll be a mother soon if this thing hatches. How about that? Wouldn't you like to—))

((_I will never be a mother! That is not mine!)) _She screeched and her voice rose in insect horror and anger. Instinctively I shrunk closer to the tunnel, self-preservation winning out over compassion. ((_That—that's my…my SPAWN! Not my children! I want it dead!))_

As she hissed at me, I realized numbly that even though we probably looked alike, we weren't alike at all. By some stroke of luck, I'd been able to keep my shards of human dignity and sanity through the long, painful metamorphosis. Morgan…poor, poor Morgan had not. Instinct had won out—I could maybe drag her through the tunnels and into BPRD custody, but what would that do? If she was content to eek out a living in this sewer, that was…that was fine. If she was happy…

I turned tail and squeezed myself up the pipe, cautiously pushing the egg sac in front of me as I went. Morgan's keening cries followed me back up out of the manhole cover.


	12. Chapter 12

**This chapter's somewhat short, but hopefully I'll be able to update again soon.

{—)K

"_Greg!_ Gregory! Come on man, where are you?!"

"Hey, bug."

"Shut up, Captain Zombie—don't call him that."

"I think he's trying to annoy Greg into coming."

"Oh, shut it Roger. _Greg!_"

((I'm here…)) I spit out some sewer slime and called up the drain, antennae flicking a bit as the voices of my fellow agents echoed down the metal sides of the pipe. I could actually see the outside air; a tiny ring of light shone just above me. ((Just—oof—give me a sec, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine.))

So far, progress had been slow. I had none of that driven energy that I had had before, and now had to push this egg case up the nearly vertical tunnel with me. As I had crawled to freedom, my travelling had boiled down into a kind of half-crawling, half-climbing motion; I would carefully hold the egg case in my middle arms, boost my front arms up and claw at the pipe. Once I had a good hold I would shift my hind legs up, pass the case to my top arms and move my middle arms up. It sounds complicated, I know, but really it wasn't. The only bad thing about it was that it was so damn _tiring_…

"Wait…_hey!_ I think I see him!" Roger's head appeared, partially blocking out the light. "He's right down there—look. Hi Greg! Are you okay?"

At this point I was too tired and concerned to respond. My thoughts flicked to Morgan—could she hear this one-sided conversation? Did she even understand it?—and I sighed. Only what, eighteen feet? That was just over three times the length of my body. That was it—all I had to do was cover that last distance and I'd be home free. Or at least, out of the sewer and able to get back to the base.

((There's something…watch out. I'm passing it up.)) I boosted myself the last few inches and pushed the egg case out of the manhole cover, letting it land on the slightly-withered grass around the entrance. Ignoring the bewildered and disgusted noises of my colleagues, I wriggled free and collapsed in the grass, listlessly twitching when Daimio prodded me with his boot and began yelling at me.

"What the hell was that? We go to get some goddamn _coffee_ and you decide to go exploring?! Next time take a fucking locator and tell us where the hell you're going!" Daimio swore a few times and paused, as if expecting me to respond. I didn't—I was _tired_, and this grass was so nice against my newly-hardened exoskeleton. I'd started bleeding again halfway through the trek upwards; absentmindedly I figured that I should _really_ start thinking about patching up that wound and explaining this egg case before anyone decided to shoot it.

I really _should_ do something…I rolled onto my side and stared at Daimio's boot. He really kept those things shiny, didn't he? They look so new, but they can't be…does he clean his boots every night or does he have more then one pair? That was a funny thought…a rotating schedule of footwear. Monday boots, Tuesday boots—backup pairs for unforeseen incidents. Ha ha ha. So lucky I don't wear shoes anymore. Or _socks_…that would be a nightmare.

"Greg?" Daimio's voice was somewhat quieter and actually sounded a bit concerned. "You listening? Greg?"

((Why does everyone call me _Greg?_ What happened to Gregory? That's a good name…)) I got to my feet and winced as the cut twinged. Please let me not have gotten sewage in it…

"I can't understand you. Here—" He somehow managed to get a notepad and mechanical pencil from nowhere and handed them to me. "Write it down."

((It's…oh nevermind.)) The mechanical pencil was almost out of graphite; I had about half and inch of stuff to write with. Grimacing a bit—Daimio almost jumped at that one, the poor guy must think something bad is up—I jotted down a heavily abbreviated note.

_OK now. Went to sewer, fnd. egg case, other sewer. Not sure why. Fine now. Would like to rinse off, contin. drive back to base. Pencil out of lead._

I handed him the note and slumped a bit. Jink was next to the egg case, poking a bit at its surface. It was actually a nice white-tan color, now that I was seeing it in daylight. You could almost see the eggs through the semi-translucent "skin" of the thing. "What the hell is this thing?"

((Beats me.)) Hefting it up in my arms, I handed it off to her. ((Please hold. I'm going to try to get this crap off of me.))

{—)K

"So you didn't know why you were doing this?" Daimio glanced up from my second recollection of what had just transpired. This time I'd written it in the truck—once I'd hastily scrubbed off the worst of the stuff from my exoskeleton in the bathroom, the traffic had actually loosened up and we were able to continue on at a pretty good pace.

Jink was angrily staring out the window. Daimio had actually told her to "turn on that damn iPod" and not listen to her conversation, threatening her with the loss of her penguin if she refused. The bizarre threat seemed to work, though I considered him a lucky man—if she had had laser vision he would have looked like half-melted Swiss cheese by now. Swiss cheese…that sounds great. Now I'm hungry again.

The egg case was sitting on my lap; after a few more note cards I'd managed to get the point across that this wasn't from the frog creatures, but was something I found and would like to take back to the base. To tell the truth, I had no clue what would happen to this thing, but almost anything was better then what could happen to it if Morgan had kept it. I shivered a bit and wrote more, using my note cards and a pen that actually worked. _I can't explain it. I was drawn into the tunnels, and I met Morgan._

"_Morgan?_ Who the hell is Morgan?!"

_The other cockroach person. I didn't include that?_

"You sure as hell didn't!" Daimio grumbled and glared off into empty space for a moment. "You're gonna hafta see the docs, Greg. This isn't making sense."

I sighed and scratched a bit more onto the paper. _I know. Trust me, I know._

**Update pending…


	13. Chapter 13

**I HATE midterms, so very much…here's another chapter. It's really short. TT,,TT Hopefully I'll be able to update again soon.

{—)K

"Can you tell me what day it is?"

I swished my antennae irritably and wrote on the single piece of loose-leaf paper that I'd been given. This pen had almost no ink; I had to shake the thing like mad and then scribble on the paper before writing was even possible. Not the best writing utensil in the world. _Monday. _

"Alright. Now, how are you feeling?"

The scientist had asked me that question less then five minutes ago. I didn't even bother writing it again, instead circling the previous response—_Fine. I feel fine, though I'm a bit hungry and tired.—_and pointing to it with a clawed hand. For some reason, these scientists were unwilling to believe that I was actually fine…maybe that had to do with the fact that I had no "logical explanation for my erratic behavior." That was the way they said it.

Yes, I know it made no sense, and I'm still a bit alarmed at what had happened and how blindly I had followed that scent until I found Morgan, but was this really necessary? I mean, the longer they keep me here without food or rest, the more bizarre my actions will look. That's called a "self-fulfilling prophecy," I believe.

Jeez, for the people who have been observing me off and on again for my entire metamorphosis, you'd think they'd have figured that out by now.

I slowly scrawled a few sentences, thinking through the remark, phrasing and rephrasing it as I wrote it. _I understand why you're observing me right now_

I was immediately interrupted. "And yet you have no explanation for it." The scientist stared at me, his voice monotone. Almost all of the guys in the science wing of the base dress and look the same: white lab coat, BPRD shirts underneath, tan pants, with their hair neatly combed back into a smooth skullcap. Man or woman, didn't matter—they dressed _exactly the same_. They all talked the same, too, and it was creepy.

_Yes. Well, no, I don't, but as soon as I figure it out I'll be sure to tell you. Now, may I please go? I've got three separate reports to fill out and I'd like to get some food._

"Someone else is filling out your reports for you. You're under observation, Mr. Langelaan—until we can determine the cause for your odd actions you'll be staying here."

Great…just great. I was pretty much jailed here, he meant. _What about any missions that may be assigned to me? _

"You've been relieved of active duty for the time being."

((What?!)) The angry remark accidentally slipped out. How could they do this—the frog menace was escalating, and the BPRD had barely enough agents out in the field as it was! Now they wanted to sideline me? That meant that someone else could get _killed_, in my place. How the hell could they do this?!

The scientist's brow furrowed and he picked up a clipboard from the small table separating us. "Excuse me? Would you mind writing that down?"

_Nevermind._

"Gregory, you know I can't do that. What did you say?"

_Honestly, it was nothing worth recording. Save trees—don't waste paper._

He sighed. "Fine then." He scribbled something onto his forms and paused, his tone becoming contemplative. "This is only going to take longer, the more you conceal."

Great.


	14. Chapter 14

**Yay! Another chapter! OwO

By the way, I realized that I've forgotten to mention this: _I do not own any characters or situations in the BPRD/Hellboy universe, excepting my own (of course). _

{—)K

_So what about the egg case?_

The scientist looked up from his clipboard at the soft scratching sounds the pen made against the paper, eyes squinting just a bit in concentration as he analyzed the note scribbled on the bare margins. After a few seconds of intense staring at my chicken-scratch of a message, he pulled another sheet of loose-leaf from his pile of forms and slid it across the table to me with a flourish.

"I can't read that—it's too small. Please write it down again on this paper."

Sighing, I rewrote the question, making sure that my lettering was large and clear. By now, I'd gone through three sheets of paper—since my writing's pretty small when I want it to be, that was a sign that I'd been here for quite a while. According to the scientist's watch, it was about 6:30 pm right now…and we'd left for the tunnels to make that raid on the frog nest at about one o'clock in the afternoon. Direct, planned missions like that don't usually take very long—about two hours at the most, maybe three if it got very bad—and I hadn't been in the sewers for more then a half-hour, tops. That meant that I'd been sitting in the "observation room" for at least two hours.

Things are pretty boring when you've got absolutely nothing to do except stare at someone else and twiddle your antennae, so I'd ended up starting a conversation with the man. It turns out his name is Montgomery Something-or-other—I can't spell his last name, or say it for that matter. He'd actually responded to some of the questions I'd asked, giving commentary about his personal life, what he thought of the rec room and the coffee, etc., but whenever I'd asked about topics such as how long this would last or how Roger, Daimio, Liz, Jink, and the others were, he'd simply gone back to writing in his clipboard. To tell the truth, it was pissing me off; what was he waiting for here? Did he expect me to start foaming at the mandibles and trying to rip someone's head off? Seriously, what was the problem here…?

"The ootheca—egg case, excuse me—is being tested for contaminants in another section of this building." Mr. Montgomery noticed how my antennae waved around in anxiety and anger and quickly added, "All the tests are non-invasive and safe. We're not going to damage it."

I responded with a single word: _good_. These scientists had no right to start digging into the thing with scalpels and god-knows-what.

The man leaned in and placed his clipboard on his lap. "Why exactly are you so interested in the ootheca, anyway?" he must have tried to sound casual, but he wasn't good at acting—I could tell that he was very interested and eager to hear my response. Tread carefully, Gregory…this could be what he's wanted to hear. Maybe, if you answer correctly, they'll let you out of this goddamn room…

It took me a full minute to formulate a response. _I'm concerned for it, but I don't know exactly why. It's the same way you would feel if you heard that someone's child was sick or you were babysitting. _

Babysitting…that was it, wasn't it? I mean, when I got out of here, and if they actually let me see the egg case, I knew that I'd check up on it as if it was a child. Well, it was, so that made sense…but I'd taken it from Morgan so she didn't have to see it. As much as she wanted it dead, I couldn't bear even the thought of letting innocent children—they're baby roach-people, so they're the same as human kids, right? Right—be harmed. It's just not right, you know?

"Interesting. So you feel a compulsion to take care of it?"

_Well, not necessarily a compulsion, but still I'd like to_

Furious knocking erupted at the door; loud, prolonged sequences of banging mixed with swearwords. Mr. Montgomery whirled around in his chair and stood up. "What is this?"

Jink's voice reverberated through the door and into the observation room. "I know you've got Greg in there, you assholes! Let him out! You can't just stick him in a room!" Another voice, barely audible, came from outside as well. Though I couldn't quite catch what the other person said, Jink's reply was unmistakable. "No, I _won't_ let the science geeks do their work, damnit! They've had him in that room for three freakin' hours!"

Three hours? Really? Wow…that was a while. I stood up and gingerly pushed the chair back in behind me as I crossed the room to where Mr. Montgomery was. He'd cracked opened the door and stepped outside—holding the thing half-closed, the jerk. Couldn't he at least let me know what was going on?—and was now engaging in a rushed, irritated conversation that involved repetitions of the words "secure" and "detained."

"Screw that!" Jink swore and Mr. Montgomery jerked back, skittering into the room with his smooth hair now puffed out. I guessed that Jink had shocked him; the teenage girl rushed into the room and caught sight of me, awkwardly standing there and unsure of what to do. "Greg! Greg! Man, you're okay. Jeez we were all worried…" She hugged me and frowned. "Did they do any freaky tests?"

I evaded Mr. Montgomery—who looked mulish and annoyed with his hair puffed up—and grabbed the paper and pen. I made a literary remark as I walked back to Jink. _I'm fine. They didn't do anything that bad. Hey—come on. There's something I need to check._

{—)K

**What does Gregory have planned? DUN DUN DUUNNNN!

Okay: I've referenced a short story in this chapter, multiple times. If you can identify the title and who wrote it, you get…I don't know what you would get, but it will be _awesome_. Perhaps a cameo, or a drawing of you or an OC on my DeviantART account, who knows? ^,,^


	15. Chapter 15

**Once again, sorry for the massive delay in posts. TT,,TT I'm trying to update as much as I can, but there's just SO MUCH WORK, it's obscene. Anyway, here you go: one brand-spankin'-new chapter for your literary pleasure.

{—)K

"Oh man—Greg, we are going to be in _so much trouble._ This is the science part of the base." Jink rushed after me, her shoes making loud clunking noises against the tile. The rhythmic pounding noise only served to put me more on edge; my feet made tiny scraping and tapping noises as I walked, while her footsteps were sure to attract the attention of anyone nearby. If not that, then her talking would. Damn, I just wanted to hurry up and leave her behind…but she'd gotten me out of that room, so I should be grateful. Without her kindly entrance, I wouldn't have had an exit. Oh well.

"Greg—where the hell are we going, man?" She ran past me as I abruptly skidded to a halt, antennae twitching and taking in the scents and vibrations suspended in the air like land mines. Doubling back, she straightened the brim of her hat and stared at me. "…Greg?"

There were people heading down the hall. Multiple people, and fast ones too—I could smell them and hear them as they drew closer. I scurried up the cold wall and grabbed Jink's wrists, pulling her none-too-gently up to the ceiling with me. She made a choked yelping sound—I twisted and shoved her between me and the ceiling, turning myself into some bizarre insect hammock. I gestured down the hall with an antenna and tried to signal to her that we should be quiet; Jink nodded jerkily and stayed still.

This was…awkward. I'd tried to leave as much space between the musty paint and my underside, but that didn't amount to much. Jink was being squashed against me. To tell the truth, it had been a while since I'd had physical contact like this with someone—not many people want to hug giant insects. Still, it was unnecessarily uncomfortable, and I was relieved when the group of people rushed beneath us and vanished around a corner, yelling things like "there!" and "the observation room!" as they ran past. After a few more seconds it was safe to continue walking, and I dropped down to the floor again.

Jink staggered back, coughing a bit and brushing invisible dust off her arms and shoulders. I scratched my head and pulled out an index card. _Sorry about that._

"N-no problem, man. Just warn me next time, 'kay?" Jink shuffled a bit in place and looked around. "You really heard them coming?"

I nodded. _Well, I smelled them. Come on—we need to hurry up before someone else comes along and sees us._

"No problem. Where are we _going_, though? Seriously Greg, you're freaking me out a bit here." The lightning girl crossed her arms and glared at me. "Where are we going and why is it important?" A note of worry snuck into her voice—or was that just a quaver? "Please—just tell me."

Time was wasting; who knew how long we had before the scientists came back? But still…I beat back the worry and compulsion in my mind and nodded slightly. Quickly I scrawled a note. _I'm going to get the egg case. I don't want those scientists to cut that up, or "observe" it._

That seemed to be an adequate reason, because Jink relaxed. I hadn't even noticed that she was tensing up. "Damn, why didn't you say that sooner then? I thought you were…I don't know, but it was worse than that. C'mon! Let's go!"

{—)K

((No…no…no…)) I crept through the various labs and side rooms, antennae flicking back and forth wildly. This place smelled so bad…it wasn't just the scents of ether, disinfectant and cold metal that tainted the air. Smells like that, the ones humans pick up, are half of the horror of labs. No, I could smell the individual things that had been "tested" here, their blood, flesh, and bone. Death, too…and adrenalin. Those hung thick in the air like rancid fog.

Oh…I'm getting a little creepy here, aren't I? I'm sorry—I didn't mean to frighten you; it's just that the sights and smells were _that_ vivid. I'll move on now.

Anyway, Jink and I snuck through the bases. Jink would keep a lookout as I peeked in the room. Usually it was obvious that the ootheca wasn't there, and we'd leave; every third room or so we'd have to go inside and poke around more. How long we spent drifting from room to room, I have no clue, but it was a long time.

There! There it was—it was sitting on a table, wonderfully intact and unharmed. I crossed the room in less than a second and hugged it close, running my antennae against its leathery skin and breathing in that strange, wonderful scent. It smelled almost like cinnamon, but it wasn't sugary and it wasn't spicy. Odd…but it didn't matter! I'd found it, and it was okay! So now…everything was okay…I felt happy and almost languid, like everything was fine now that I'd found this thing now.

"Greg. "

That was Daimio's voice. I turned and faced the source of the sound, shielding the egg case from view. Daimio was standing in the doorway, casually leaning against the metal frame and puffing on a cigar. He glanced at the ootheca with a calculating expression—I hugged it closer and twitched a bit when I felt the little ones inside move around. ((What? What is it?))

"Put it down."

((What?))

"You heard me." Daimio sighed smokily and lifted up a gun, cocking it with a stoic expression and pointing it at me. "Put it down, Greg."

{—)K

**And…that's it for now! ^,,^ I'll update soon.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'm halfway through Midterms now; I got a 98 on my math test, which is _awesome_ since I'm not good at math, at all. ^,,^ Another chapter!

{—)K

_"It's got to go", shouted his sister, "That's the only way, Father. You've got to get rid of the idea that that's Gregor. We've only harmed ourselves by believing it for so long. How can that be Gregor? If it were Gregor he would have seen long ago that it's not possible for human beings to live with an animal like that and he would have gone of his own free will. We wouldn't have a brother any more, then, but we could carry on with our lives and remember him with respect."_

The quote from The Metamorphosis came to mind, echoing around in my head as I stood there, stupidly gaping at the gun pointed at my torso and clutching the egg case. I've got a copy of that book, and I read it often—I actually owned it before I changed. The similarity between his name and mine—oh come on, our names are practically the _same_, I just have a "y" at the end—is a coincidence a little bit too creepy for my taste. Seriously, it's like this could have been my life story…

It was on the reading list for my philosophy courses in college…damn. College, when everything was about as normal as it could get and my boss wouldn't point a gun at me if I did something wrong. I worked part-time at a smoothie shop, and it was decent pay; I never had to worry about saving unborn cockroach-people or potentially getting shot by someone I was beginning to trust. Not like now.

Was this what was happening? The same thing that had happened to Gregor Samsa in Kafka's book? Having someone close to you change in such a drastic way had been enough to drive Anelisa away, it had been enough to drive my immediate family away…was the BPRD getting sick of my abnormalities as well? Were they just going to shoot me so I wasn't a problem anymore? I didn't want to believe it, but the possibility couldn't be shaken from my frightened thoughts. There was always the _if_, no matter how improbable it was. _If—_

Jink swore and shouldered her way past me, hands sparking. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!"

"Move, Jink." Daimio motioned with his free hand for her to step to the side, away from the path that the bullet would take if he pressed the trigger. "You've got to move."

"No. I'll move once you put the freakin' gun down! What the hell are you doing—Gregory's a friend, zombie man!"

Another voice cut in when the captain opened his mouth to speak. Slowly Daimio sidestepped, revealing that Mr. Montgomery was standing behind him with his clipboard. The scientist was so short that he'd been hidden behind the ex-marine's girth. "He may be your friend, but right now we can't be certain of his intentions."

((Intentions?)) Squeakily I clicked the words and looked around for pen and paper. Where was the note card I'd given Jink before? Oh wait…she still had it. Damn. That was my last scrap of paper too; now communication was practically impossible unless I got one of my four hands on some paper.

Mr. Montgomery sifted through the loose collection of papers he held, finally finding the file he wanted and pulling it out. "The main test results came back—we determined that the 'scent' Gregory said he felt compelled to follow was a kind of pheromone. Chemical substances used by insects and other animals to communicate nonverbally," he added, as if nobody here had had a basic biology course in school. Funny thing was, I could have sworn that was the exact definition in the textbook…

"So what? It's insect perfume, and Greg found Morgan and the egg case because of it. That was a bit freaky but now he's fine so _put the freaking gun down, Captain Zombie!_" The lightening girl yelled and sparked again. "Or I swear to Spark I'll beat your ass so hard—"

Daimio puffed on his cigarette again and glared at the scientist. "You said to make sure he didn't go anywhere. Well, he's not going anywhere, so skip the science lesson and tell me why the hell I'm doing this."

Mr. Montgomery straightened his papers again and glared at both Jink and Daimio. "Gregory himself is secreting pheromones, though in smaller amounts the ootheca. We've managed to test them, and we've found that the chemical compounds seem to be involved in some kind of reverse-imprinting process with the egg case." Catching the blank looks from us all, he sighed. "Ever watch that new Star Trek: Enterprise series? Specifically, the episode with Archer and the Xindis? It's basically that."

I remembered that episode…god the special effects were awful for that series. Star Trek: The Next Generation was _so_ much better, because it had Data. So _that_ was what they thought?! I was under the influence of some chemical trail, and I'd decided to adopt the egg case? That was a crock of it—I'd be able to tell if some smell was making me loopy and obsessive about little cockroach-people eggs.

But wait…I'd never been able to tell when I'd had too many drinks during college parties. _Never_—even when I was falling down, slurring stupid things and almost puking I'd think it was okay to have 'one for the road.' If I couldn't tell then, how could I tell now? Was there much of a difference? I didn't know.

Slowly I put the egg case down, ignoring the little alarms that went off in my head when I did this—that wasn't normal. Was that the pheromones?—and gesturing for a piece of paper. When the others just stared at me I sighed and mimed writing. ((Paper, please. And a pen—no mechanical pencils. They suck.))

"Oh—something to write with." Jink took one of Montgomery's papers, smiling at bit at his irritated "hey—that's my report!" and handing it to me along with a pen. "There ya go."

((Thanks.)) I began scrawling a note:

_I don't know how much of what he just said is true, but better safe then sorry, right? I want to keep this thing safe, but if I'm acting strange because of it I'll give it back. I won't otherwise—I made a promise to Morgan. We just need to work something out, okay?_

Daimio snatched up the note almost before I finished writing it. His eyes narrowed and his scarred face curled upwards in a lopsided grin/grimace. He passed it to the scientist and exhaled a puff of smoke. "Fine."


	17. Chapter 17

**w00t! Another midterm test done! Happy joy-joy! ^,,^

A big thanks to everyone that's been reading and reviewing this story—this is the longest I've ever taken a fanfic of mine and, to tell the truth, it's awesome. Huzzah!

{—)K

((You know, this is killing so many trees that it sort of makes me want to cry.)) I clicked to myself and mechanically slid one of the innumerable pieces of paper to one side. ((Really it is…)) Sighing, I shook the pen I was holding, mandibles moving soundlessly as I noticed that it was running out of ink. I'd need a new one soon…stupid pens. At least they weren't mechanical pencils, though.

This was the third report I'd had to fill out so far—I'm not talking small, two-page things either. No, these reports are _detailed_ and the longest one had exceeded ten pages. Ten pages on recent frog creature attacks and sightings, as well as the condition of the egg case and any recent changes it had undergone, including "inferences" and guesses on what would happen next. Yup, this was definitely killing more trees then I'd like to think about. Poor trees…I hope the BPRD recycles all the excess paperwork.

Why am I filling out these reports? Well, after much discussion and debate among the higher-ups, I'd finally managed to convince everyone that I was still in my right mind. To be honest, I wasn't even sure if I wasn't being affected by the pheromones for a while myself, but a battery of tests soon proved that I was behaving as normally as I'd ever been. Because of that, I was cleared, I got to return to active duty and I even regained custody of the egg case. Now I'm its guardian-of-sorts, at least until it hatches. My gaze flicked over to my bed, where the egg case lay in the middle of my blanket-nest. Alright—it was fine. I could go back to work.

Getting to take care of it is more the work of the higher-ups, though. The bosses seemed interested in the fact that I'd managed to find another person like me…a bit too interested. Nobody except them really knows what they've been discussing—Manning and the other guys won't tell me anything, and if they're informing Daimio I have no clue—but I can tell that they're either very excited or very anxious about the fact that there could be more cockroach people. That's been making me think a lot recently, or at least as much as I can think when I'm not raiding frog nests or taking care of the ootheca or filling out reports. Time with friends has been cut out entirely; I'm lucky if I can have a five-minute conversation over coffee with anyone. Life at the BPRD, I guess.

If there were others…others like me…would the BPRD see them as a potential ally or another threat to go alongside the frog things and Ogdru Hem? That depended on how "human" they were, I guess. If they were like me, with college backgrounds and enough human reason to drive back the instincts, it would most likely be hunky-dory. But if they were like Morgan…"id-driven," as they say…

A quiet squeaking noise broke my train of thought; the doorknob turned and Jink poked her head in. "Uh…hey Greg. What's up?"

A glance at the clock revealed it to be almost midnight. Funny…I figured that it was a bit later then that actually—more like one in the morning—but who cares? I turned in the uncomfortable chair and moved away from the small writing-desk and the papers, picking out a note card and holding it up. _Hello_. _You're up late, aren't you?_

"Heh. Not really." Jink opened the door all the way and walked in, turning the knob behind her as she went. The hinges made another muffled noise as the door closed. "So what's up, man? You haven't been out and about for a while. Roger and I have had to play poker alone." _Because you weren't there,_ her tone seemed to say. Guilt rolled through my empty stomach and my shoulders sagged. Yeah, I hadn't been there.

_I know. Sorry about that; I've had all these darn reports and the egg case. I guess I've been losing track of time…_

"Oh." My friend peeked over my shoulder at the pile of paperwork on the table. "Wow. Damn, that's a lot of paper."

_Yeah, it is. I hope the BPRD recycles._ I chuckled a bit at my own joke and scratched my head. _So how have YOU been doing?_

She shrugged. "Same old, same old." Jink stifled a yawn and seemed to think of something. "Hey, you want to watch a movie? We found some really good copies of _The Fly_ and stuff like that—Roger and I were gonna watch it. Sound good?"

Yeah. Yeah, it did sound good. It would be nice to take a break from all this writing and just hang out with people. When was the last time I had done that?

_Sure! Sounds great!_

Jink looked astonished when she read the card, as if she'd expected me to say no. On another day, maybe I would have. "Really? Awesome, man! C'mon, let's go!" Laughing, she yanked open the door. "I'm going to go get some Dr. Pepper—wanna come?"

I nodded and followed her, making sure to check on the egg case and lock the door behind me.

**And that's it for now!


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay; this chapter's short, but consider it a kind of filler for now, just reaffirming the relationships between characters. I'll get back to the main action in the next few updates, don't worry. ^,,^

A big thank you, once again, to everyone that's reviewed and followed me thus far.

{—)K

"Oh come _on_—don't fucking check to see if it's dead! Come on already—no!"

"_Arrrggghhhh!"_ The teenager on the screen was yanked to the ground by the monster, kicking and screaming as its tentacles wrapped around his limbs. I wasn't too sure what it was supposed to be at this point, but it looked somewhat like a baby version of Azathoth: all tentacles, feelers, and amorphous tissue loosely held together in a bundle-like shape. The monster growled, sounding oddly like an angry dog, and pulled its rope-like limbs apart. The guy managed to yell out a swearword and kick out wildly before he was bifurcated. Oddly purple blood splashed as another teenager—this one a blond girl whose outfit left little to the imagination—screamed and tried to crawl away down the not-quite-dark subway tunnel.

Jink slumped in the couch next to me and furiously snatched up her Dr. Pepper. "You've got to be kidding me." She inclined her head and sipped at the soda, then glared at the television screen. "You _never_ check to see if the monster's dead. _Never_."

That was true. Even in the BPRD, it was common knowledge that even if the thing was shot, set ablaze, slammed with a psychic attack/spell, crushed or just plain-old eviscerated, it was in your best interest to pump a few bullets into the thing before going anywhere near it. If it looks dead, it probably isn't. I laughed and wrote on the notepad lying next to me; it was already littered with snide remarks and comments on the awful quality of the film. _I'm surprised that it wasn't the girl that went and checked. The girls always die first._

Roger scratched his head and intercepted the paper as I passed it to Jink. He'd parked himself on the floor, right in front of the couch Jink and I were sitting on. I'd offered him my space, but he'd refused; something about couch cushions or something like that. The homunculus read the scrawled sentence and laughed. "Yeah. Why does that always happen? It's the teenagers that die first in horror movies."

I snatched the notepad back and responded: _Beats me. I guess it's to appeal to the target age group. I mean, look at the Saw series—usually all the teens die, but people still watch the movies obsessively._

"The Saw series? Is that the one with the—" Roger mimed riding on a bike, the motion looking strange and awkward since he was sitting down. His grey-brown face was fixed in a creepy, wide smile. "—the doll thing?"

_Yeah. I can't remember its name, though…_

"Billy." Jink grimaced. "It's name is Billy. God, the Saw movies were so awful…"

Roger's yellow eyes narrowed in thought and he looked up at her. "I don't think so." He shrugged and continued. "They were gross but they had a plot."

"What plot? Rube Goldberg machines of death?"

Roger nodded; Jink rolled her eyes and looked at the screen. "The movies sucked. I don't know why there's five of them."

I chuckled a bit. _Follow the money, Jink. There's a vial hidden somewhere in this room. Within it is the antidote to the slow-acting poison in your Dr. Pepper. Time's wasting, Jink. _Mandibles waving in insect laughter, I passed it to Roger—who started laughing—and Jink, who raised an eyebrow, nonplussed.

"Yeah, yeah. I think this movie will kill me before the poison would. This crap makes Plan 9 from Outer Space look like freakin' Avatar."

Avatar?! Are you _kidding me?_ That movie was horrendous! Sure, the special effects were beautiful, but for God's sake it was Pocahontas in Space! Quickly I grabbed the paper and scribbled a response. _Hey, don't insult Plan 9 that way. Avatar is __not__ a good movie._

"Yeah it was! It was wonderful, man!"

_Wonderfully bad, you mean. It was Dances with Smurfs, except it was PG-13._

"Hey. Stop talking—the predictable cliffhanger's here." Roger looked at us and motioned over to the TV with his head. "Check it out."

"Cool." Jink turned to face the television screen just as the girl stumbled out of the (mysteriously abandoned—like nobody would be in the subway in New York on a Saturday night) subway station and stumbled up the stairs into blinding sunlight. Just as she was about to yell for help, another tentacle monster grabbed at her leg and pulled her back in. Cue cut-to-black.

Yup; that's a sci-fi original movie for you. I refuse to call it "Scy-fy" now—the name change was completely unnecessary and really takes away from the channel.

The lightning girl "See?! What'd I tell ya? _What did I tell you?!_ The ending sucked!"

"What the hell are you guys doing? It's three in the fucking morning already." Daimio stuck his head in the room, bleary eyed and scowling sleepily at us. I hastily folded my mandibles and let my antennae droop. Three o'clock, already. I had to get back to those reports…

"We're watching a movie. Want to join in?" Roger pointed to the television and inclined his head. "It's pretty funny—"

"No. Go to sleep." With that polite response, Daimio retreated down the darkened hallways of the base and vanished from sight. Sighing, I stood, scooped up the half-dozen or so cans that had accumulated over the two-hour movie and followed him. I'd just dump these in the recycling and go back to writing.

"Aww man…you're going?" Jink frowned lopsidedly from the couch.

I nodded slightly, then fumbled around for a note card with my free hand. _Yes. I'll try to get this work done soon, so maybe we can do this again tomorrow night._ I flashed the card, then turned and skittered down the hall, trying not to make any noise. Those reports had to be done.

So why was it that, as soon as I got back to my room, I curled up on my blanket-nest—next to the egg case—and fell asleep?

{—)K

**Okay, challenge! If you can identify what Sci-fi original movie I referenced in this chapter, you win a drawing of you/an OC of your choice on my DeviantART account! ^,,^


	19. Chapter 19

**w00t! Midterms are over now! Now I can go back to focusing on regular schoolwork and this fanfic here! ^,,^

By the way, nobody guessed the name of the movie, so…yeah. :/ It was an awful remake of "The Dunwich Horror," just so you know. Don't watch it—it's _awful._ XP

{—)K

Did you know that you spend almost eight hours a day with your eyes closed? It's true; check the US census bureau if you don't believe me. Americans average about eight hours of sleep a night—when you think about it, that's one-third of the day. So you're your entire live, overlooking all-nighters and days that you sleep for an abnormal amount of time, you spend only two-thirds of your life awake and alert. Wow. That kinda makes me glad that I can't sleep.

Of course, I do miss it from time to time…it can get boring, always having to do something. Usually it's a godsend because it allows me to get all the paperwork done and still get to hang out with friends, but when the base is quiet and there isn't much to do, and I get tired of reading books or going on the computer it can get very boring. Even when I'm at rest my brain keeps firing away; I never get to just close my eyes—well, I can't close my eyes either way—and conk out for a while. Well, not _usually_.

{—)K

"_What is this?" Casually I looked around at my surroundings, noticing that I was still in my room. My voice sounded strange, for some reason…I couldn't quite identify why it sounded different, but it did. A quick glance at the alarm clock revealed that it was seven in the morning—I was late. Shit._

_I stood up and skittered out of bed, only to pause at the sight of pink skin where normally I would see browned exoskeleton. Instantly I froze—things stopped moving and the pale skin stayed where it was—was this my _leg? _Yeah, it was my leg. Gingerly I poked at it; as my hand entered my field of vision I noticed that it was a human hand. Human, with five fingers, knuckles, a palm…not a clawed nub of an appendage. No. This couldn't actually be…could this be happening?_

_Sensations came as I prodded the skin of my leg—the nerves were working, and I could feel where the small fingertips brushed against soft tissue, a bit stubbly with hair. Slowly I looked myself over. I was short a pair of limbs, my exoskeleton was gone, but I had hair, skin. _Teeth_—I could feel my face curl up in a wide grin. This was..._I was human again!_ I could probably talk if I wanted to—come to think of it that was probably why my voice had sounded odd. No more clicking and writing—I could _speak!_ Speak words! Maybe…maybe I could even…I rubbed at my face, now free of mandibles and instead shaped by a defined lower jaw that was attached to an upper jaw. God, I had forgotten what it was like—_

_A jolt of pain came as I felt my jaw unhinge in my hand, flopping like an unlocked door and listing to one side in an agonizing angle. Small splintering sounds could be heard; my teeth were dropping out of my mouth and plinking against the floor like large, calcified snowflakes. As I tried to catch one in my hand my wrist snapped; more pain arced up my spine, contorting it. More breaking…_

_No!_ No! _I remembered this—not again, not again—oh please, not again! I can't stand it—_

The alarm woke me up; red lights were flashing in the hallway. Panting squeakily, I curled my limbs in for a few seconds and rocked back in forth, trying to dislodge the memories from my sleep-addled brain. A dream. Not just a dream—a nightmare. How long had it been since I'd had one of those? Not long enough. I thought I was done with the changing—I thought it was behind me—oh god why did I have to remember?!

Calm. Calm, Gregory. This won't solve anything; cowering like this will do nothing but make you feel worse. It's like the shrinks said when this has happening—oh god, oh god oh god oh god…I hate this. I hate thinking about it too long—no. It's behind you. That's what they said. Yes, you can't deny it, and it would be stupid to say that you can just cope with it like it's nothing important. This metamorphosis was horrible and unexpected, but it's over now and I'm still alive. I'm still alive.

I stopped trembling and slumped, burying my face in the blanket. Yes, that's good. I'm alive, and the memories can only bother me if I let them. Which I won't now. They're gone—beyond me. Calm. I am calm.

The alarm cut out, choking down to a dull _whoop-whoop_ and falling silent, but the red lights still flashed in the hall. Hopefully there weren't any epileptics in the BPRD…why had the alarm gone off anyway? If it had been for an emergency frog mission people would have been running around by now and I would have been alerted. All was quiet now in the base, so that wasn't the case.

What was going on, then? Had that been the fire alarm? Most likely. As if to reaffirm my suspicions, Liz's scent drifted past my door and my antennae picked up the quiet sound of footsteps. From what I could remember of the files, Miss Elizabeth Sherman was a well-known pryokinetic. I guess I wasn't the only one having bad dreams.

I held up my hand to my face; an insect hand, to an insect face. Not human. It was a dream.

_I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly dreaming I am a man._

-Ê _Chuang Tzu_

_Enough of that. Perhaps I could talk to Liz. Slowly I snuck out the door, note cards clutched in my top pair of hands._

{—)K

Liz was sitting alone in the cafeteria, sipping at a cup of coffee. She jumped a bit when I tapped her shoulder, clenching the mug in her hands; I was surprised that there were still hot drinks this early in the morning. Of course, she could have just heated it herself…

Slowly I held up a card, trying not to make any sudden movements. This was hard—the images and emotions of that nightmare were still lingering in the back of my mind, making it hard to not jump at the slightest noise. Why had I dreamt tonight?

_Hello. Are you okay?_

"Yeah." Liz stared into her coffee mug and didn't speak again. She twirled a spoon idly in the liquid, creating a miniature whirlpool. After a few moments of this activity she stopped spinning the utensil; some of the drink splashed over the side of the mug and onto the table.

"Damn." Liz wiped the sleeve of her coat—I noticed briefly that she was fully dressed—and pushed the coffee cup away. "Where's a napkin…" My fellow agent looked around for something to clean up the small mess with, blinking more then people normally do. My antennae drooped when I noticed tears—Liz wasn't crying over spilt coffee. This was something else entirely.

I reached over to another table and plucked up some napkins, using the squares of paper product to clean up the puddle of coffee. As I chucked the soaked napkins away in a nearby trash can, I wrote on a card and passed it over to her with my unoccupied hands. _Is there anything you want to talk about?_

"No." Curtly, Liz stood up and walked off, leaving the cup on the table in front of me. That short, almost rude reply hung in the air for a few moments as I stood silently, then dissipated when I began walking away as well. Liz had already vanished down the twisting corridors; it was clear that whatever thoughts were on her mind, she didn't want to voice them. That was fine by me, but even still I hated to see anyone upset…There had to be something I could do to help.

Like what? What could I do to help her? I didn't know Liz that well. Softly I clicked to myself and scratched my head, recognizing defeat. I trekked back to my room and curled up again, hoping that perhaps my dreams would take me to better places and kinder memories.

I didn't go back to sleep—instead, thoughts churned even more in my insect brain, thudding against the back of my eyes like moths against a light bulb. Striving for it, but not getting close...I should have figured. Insects don't sleep, remember? Best to let this one go and get some work done.

Not just yet. Paperwork could wait…it would be nice to just lie here, settled on my blanket-nest, and think. That's what I normally do, after all—my brain is always firing. Chittering, I laughed as a quote came to mind:

"_I __love sleep. My life has the tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, you know?_"

{—)K

**Well, that was a long chappie, wasn't it? ^,,^ That last quote was by Earnest Hemingway, by the way. Anyway, thanks for reading my story, and I'll update another day.

Wow…I rhymed in that last author's note. Who could have guessed? The aftermath of my Shakespeare test. :P


	20. Chapter 20

**Alright! finally let me upload documents, so everything's going fine. On with the updating! There's not too much action in this one—mostly inner dialogue. Just shoring up for the next few chapters.

I tried to keep everyone IC here, but if I didn't _please_ let me know! I don't want to ruin any of the characters here. -,,-

{—)K

"They shouldn't be here."

_Maybe the reports are false?_ I scrawled and held up the card, inclining my head slightly to give as much expression to the gesture as possible. My antennae flicked around; nobody was really here yet. Oh well; they'd show up eventually. After all, this was called on short notice.

"No. The sources were reliable. The frogs shouldn't be here, though. It doesn't make sense." The blonde-haired woman stared at a map of what I could only assume were reported frog nests, an expression of concentration on her face. This was the first time I'd met Ms. Corrigan, and I could already see why she was deemed an asset to the BPRD. There was an awful lot of thinking going on behind those blue eyes of hers.

"There's been a specific pattern to the nest sites so far; we've managed to pick that out. But this one…it doesn't follow it at all."

She spun the map around so I could look at it; I stared, trying to decipher the small notes and symbols she'd scribbled in the margins. To be perfectly frank, I thought that my handwriting was bad, but this…wow. This was completely unreadable, no matter how hard I tried to find English words in it. Finally I skipped over the illegible scrawling and focused instead on the red dots what pockmarked the map like chicken pox. Chicken pox…god, I hated having that as a kid. Good thing I can't catch human diseases anymore. Crud—rambling. Back on track, Gregory.

She was right. The single red dot that marked the location of the most recent frog reports stood alone from the others, venturing out past the roughly fan-like shape made by the other red dots. It was almost as if the frogs had sent out an exploration party. But no…that didn't make sense. Why build a nest, then, if you didn't know the area and couldn't hope for support? How could we even be sure that the frog monsters were that smart?

How was the egg case doing? I'd been here at this impromptu meeting for less than twenty minutes, but my thoughts were already turning to the ootheca. It _should_ be safe…I locked the door and it was doing fine when I left. Maybe I should excuse myself and go check on it. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea…

No. There's something important going on here. The egg case had nothing to do with this.

Wait—maybe it did. Slowly I looked over the map again, mandibles clicking softly as the instincts clamored for an audience; I beat them back just enough so I could think straight but let them linger in the back of my mind. Every one of the nests had been in generally out-of-the-way locations—farmhouses, rural areas, isolated towns, that sort of thing. Since the frogs were getting smarter, it made sense that they'd be doing that. Keeping out of the way would save their young. Ms. Corrigan had been right, though—there _was_ a pattern to the sites, which suggested that something was guiding them. I briefly wrote down this train of thought and showed it to Kate.

"Yes—this is just guesswork, but it's possible that the Ogdru Hem are directly guiding them. Katha-Hem surfaced very close to the areas where frogs had set up nests." Ms. Corrigan sighed and tucked a strand of short hair behind her ear. "It could be that this winds up being another hotspot." Unconsciously she tensed—I didn't blame her. I wasn't there when Katha-Hem surfaced, but from what I'd heard it was a complete nightmare. Not the best of things to think about during "off time." Any time at all, in fact.

Alright then. The frog things were spreading, possibly from focal points. There was a guiding force interacting with the frog creatures. But then why would this little dot be so far from the others? Were they in fact gravitating towards a certain spot? No…if that was true, there'd be more then one dot, wouldn't there? Yeah…there were barely a dozen frogs at the site, not hundreds or—so help me god—thousands. It didn't make sense.

A dim idea floated up from the murky depths of the instinct-driven part of my brain and burst: following it I took another look at the map. Abandoned farmhouses, isolated towns. A spot father away from the others. What did they have in common…?

There. Every one of the sites was close to an abundant source of food and water. Those were essential to raising offspring and keeping yourself alive, and whatever was guiding the frogs most likely took that into consideration. They followed the patterns, stopping at different spots where it was suitable for them to reproduce and thrive. But when you took that guidance away…

They would still do that. This frog nest was near a forest area—plenty of food. Perhaps the "voice" or whatever they were following had faltered, and out of their increased intelligence they'd picked a spot that would suffice? It was an idea—not the best I've had—but it made sense. There was something…off about it, too: something that didn't jive with my instincts. Yes, it was awful that these things were killing people and trying to reproduce, but what really struck me was how _irresponsibly_ they were doing it. It was almost as if it would be fine, as long as they allocated their resources and…but no. We had to stop the invasion completely. If we left a nest alone, another infestation could begin, like—

My mind shied away from the thought. No. No, no, no, no, no. I am _different_ from the frog creatures. I am not the same as them. Even with the egg case, I'm not a threat; the little ones would not be a threat. Sure, the transformation was very similar to what was going on with the frogs, but it _wasn't the same!_ I—we—the little ones—whatever! We wouldn't be pests! We wouldn't kill and crowd out humanity like these monsters! Right? We weren't the same…right? We would never be…

The thought cowered and shrunk back from the other, angrier thoughts that sprung up, but it didn't go away. Mandibles grinding and antennae twitching, I tried to forget about it and go on with the meeting. Get rid of the frog monsters. _That's_ what we had to do: get rid of the frog monsters.


	21. Chapter 21

**Hiya! Another chapter here for you all to read; it's supposed to snow a lot tonight so, if I'm lucky, I won't have any plans tomorrow and I'll be able to keep on updating! :D

This one's a little choppy and didn't turn out quite the way I wanted it to, but it gets the job done. If I have some free time I'll fix it up; for now it's just here so you guys know what's going on. ^,,^

{—)K

_Get rid of the frog monsters. _That's _what we had to do: get rid of the frog monsters._

The thought cycled around in my thoughts, popping up here and there as Ms. Corrigan nodded and began cross-referencing nearby sites that were occupied by frogs and places where they could show up later. At least she had the grace to at least _try_ to keep me involved; this stuff was really out of my league though. Sure, I'm not an idiot, but I'm best at mythology, English, coming up with random thoughts. Not this kind of logical, expanded thinking—that was her territory. Pretty soon she stopped asking for my opinion and drifted off into a thoughtful science, scribbling more of those unreadable marks on the back of the map and nodding to herself.

Socialization. Wonderful thing, isn't it?

The rest of the meeting flew by quickly—Daimio walked in shortly after the conversation fell apart, chewing angrily on an unlit cigar and muttering something about science geeks and paperwork. Ms. Corrigan looked up and he walked over to the table he was sitting at. I tried to not catch his eye or draw attention to myself; I still had to finish my reports and, by the way things were shaping up, I wouldn't do that today. There was too much rattling around in my hard, plated head for me to just ignore it and go back to filling out forms. I mean, I _wasn't_ a threat…I thought like a human, so I kinda still was one, right? That dream was just a messed up thing that had happened. It didn't _mean_ anything. Now, we were focusing on getting rid of the frog monsters—well, they were. I wanted to see the egg case, and check on it…

Maybe tomorrow I'd get the reports done…well, it would have to be tomorrow. They were due by the end of the week.

Besides, the look on his face spoke of stress that had been just accumulating and accumulating, waiting for an outlet. I really didn't want to be that outlet…

Daimio started staring at the map and reading my scribbled notecards and remarks, his facial expression never changing. Kate began explaining the (my? does it count as my theory if Ms. Corrigan helped me come up with it? I don't think so. She gets the credit—she's the one actually working it out) theory about the frog creatures and their preferences for nesting sites. The captain didn't really respond in complete sentences, instead nodding, making affirmative grunting sounds and occasionally taking the cigar out of his mouth to spit out a sentence fragment or two. Just as I had given up the meeting and was thinking of a way to excuse myself and check on the egg case, he turned his head away from the map and stared at me—_right at me._

"What makes you think that the frog things are losing their "guidance' or whatever the hell it is?"

Funny…I expected that exact question, but I hadn't come up with an answer. Jerkily I snatched up some paper and a pen, pausing for a moment to shuffle my thoughts into some relevant, logical chain of consciousness that I could write down. _It just seems to make sense. The last few reports don't jive with the one's we've been getting, while the attacks themselves have become more sporadic and random. It's just an idea._

"Just an idea. You want me to risk the lives of our agents over _just an idea?_"

Oh no…I think I'd pushed a button, or two. Maybe three…he looked pissed off now. Clicking a bit, I added another few lines. _I didn't mean that. It would be_

"Then what the hell _did_ you mean?"

The sentence-in-progress was scribbled out and another one filled up the space next to it. _It's a theory. We'd have to check it, think about it more_

Interrupted again. "Well, we don't have time for that. The frog nasties are spreading, and we don't have time to waste on ideas and theories. Unless you're a frog yourself, don't give me this crap about _ideas._" With that, he turned and strode out of the room, grumbling to himself. From the corner of my peripheral vision I watched him go.

Kate sighed and put down her pencil, looking at me with an almost apologetic expression on her face. "He's just very stressed. We all are. We—"

I nodded, ending the conversation again and cutting her off. Reflexively my top arms shrugged, signifying that I both understood and would try to do my part in helping solve it. The gesture must have not worked perfectly, because Kate's expression shifted to one of light confusion.

Standing up and beginning the trek back to my room, I realized I was still holding the card that I'd been writing on when Daimio left. Almost languidly I turned it over and read the hastily written words.

_It's a theory. We'd have to check it out, think about it more and actually observe the frogs in the field._

_We're not a threat._ The thought bubbled back up to the surface. _I'm not the same as the frog creatures._

Well, I'd love to think that. But still…maybe. Maybe it wasn't exactly true. Maybe I was close enough, and that way I'd be useful. I'd test this theory out, and not with the lives of innocent people or BPRD agents. Doing my part, right? For pride and country or whatever the saying was.

This was such an idiotic idea…


	22. Chapter 22

**Yay! Another update! It's taking longer to get to the real action then I thought, so please bear with me. ^,,^

{—)K

This _was_ a stupid idea; one of the worst I've ever had, and that included the time I wrote down "because God made them that way" as an explanation of analogous structures on a biology test. That single failing grade has formed the yardstick by which I measure the idiocy of my actions—if something becomes anywhere _near_ as insane as that it's best to not pursue it. It's worked pretty well, to tell the truth.

Quietly, hurriedly, I collected the few items I could find and clipped them onto my belt, using the nifty little included pockets to store the things that weren't equipped with clips or key chains. That done, I looped the ring of cloth around my body and buckled it. That done, I turned to the egg case and mechanically checked it for cracks, antennae rubbing against its wonderful-smelling surface. It was safe—perfectly safe. Wonderful. Now where was I…

Well, this idea was so crazy that it made my smartass, creationist remark look like the most logical thing possible. On what grounds did I formulate this plan? I don't look human, so the frogs will automatically like me? Yeah. That was basically it, and the worst part was that I already knew that it probably wouldn't happen. If I did this I was going to get killed. Either that, or seriously maimed, and then I'd be useless to the BPRD. Seriously, why was I doing this? Because if the frog creatures attacked me, it would finally prove that I wasn't like them, and I was closer to human? Or maybe I was trying to prove Daimio wrong? No. No way, no how, this was stupid, I wasn't going to do this—

No. I _was_ going to do it; the idea was lodged in my cranium and wouldn't leave me alone. The near- compulsion it entailed began to get me worried…it was almost like the feeling I'd had when I passed the manhole cover and ended up venturing in the sewers. I _had to_ find out. I wouldn't be able to rest easy until I discovered exactly how close to these things I was. Hopefully nothing bad would happen again…that brought my thoughts over to the egg case. Who would take care of it? I'd have to leave a note. I trotted over to the desk and picked out a sheet of loose-leaf paper, writing down a short, to-the-point paragraph.

_Hello to Jink, Daimio, Liz, or any agent of the BPRD:_

_Kindly take care of the ootheca for the time being. It has to keep warm; keep it wrapped in some blankets and away from air conditioning units and drafts. Also, regularly check it for any cracks or tears. However, care should be taken that it doesn't overheat either. It doesn't need any kind of food or water, so feeding won't be an issue. I don't know how long it will be until it hatches, but I should be back long before it does. In the off chance that this is not the case, I only ask that the young ones do not become test subjects, but are given the chance to be educated and earn a full citizenship. Like I said before, I will most likely return before they hatch. I appreciate any actions that will be taken to care for it; I really do._

_-Gregory Langelaan._

_P.S: I apologize for the delay in handing in my paperwork. I'll get around to it as soon as I return._

There. That was pretty good; vague but not so much so as to cause unnecessary alarm.

Oh, who was I kidding? The second that people noticed that I was gone, the metaphorical shit would hit the fan and there'd be a massive commotion. Well, maybe not _massive…_I'm not _that _important. Jeez, don't let your exoskeletal head swell so much, Gregory. _That _never does anyone good. People will definitely notice I'm gone though, and some may worry. I _hope_ someone worries.

Alright. Nobody was nearby the room; I sensed no vibrations in the air and caught no whiff of human, demon, or whatever scent. The residential rooms, luckily, were in a part of the base that didn't get a lot of traffic. Excepting when people were going to bed or waking up, of course. I poked my head out of my room and crept up onto the ceiling, putting a hand over my belt to stop any jingling noises before they were made. I'd need to travel light—no jacket, but a gun, some money, and various other things I may have to use filled the little pockets of the cloth band around my abdomen. Now that I was out of sight, I could start sneaking out of this place. The security cameras, if there were any, wouldn't see me from this angle. If only I could bring along some warm clothing or something...it looked freezing outside. We _were_ in the mountains, after all.

Quietly I crept down the hallways, staring down time to time at the floor to check that I was not being followed. I wasn't; good. I made it to the helicopter pad before long, and—after a wait to make sure nobody was watching—leapt outside, lifting up my outer wings and letting the fragile ones underneath spread out and begin beating.

{—)K

My predictions were right: it _was _cold out. Windy, too—so much so that I could barely keep aloft, wings beating furiously and cutting through the air that felt like sharp, cold scalpels on every inch of my exoskeleton. Insects are cold-blooded, and we pretty much match the environment for temperature…I remembered reading somewhere that cockroaches could survive freezing temperatures for a short while, so I was probably good for now. Wings up, wings down. Wings up—okay, dip the left one, turn a bit, there you go—wings down again. This is flying, I think…okay, I'm not falling, so it is. Like I've said, I didn't exactly have the hang of it yet.

Now, to think: the frog creatures were spotted in a farming town a few miles from here. All I had to do was make that journey and…then what? Walk up to them and say "take me to your leader?" I wondered if they actually would do that. What guided them anyway? An individual Ogdru Hem, like Katha-hem, or did they hear from the Dragon itself? Themselves…did the Ogdru Jahad count as one creature or seven? It had one consciousness, but seven bodies…hmm. I'd have to think that one over later.

Wings up…wings down. Wings up…wings down.

Right. The frog creatures. Once I found them, I'd observe them and try to figure out where they'd be going next. If they were communicating still, I'd try talking to them and finding out more. Tentatively I fiddled with the locator clipped onto my belt. It wasn't turned yet, but I would turn it on and alert the BPRD to my location as soon as, or if, I found a nest. That would hopefully bring a squad or someone to my location, and the nest would be cleared. So I _would _accomplish something, even if the rest of my plan fell flat.

Wings up, wings down. Good. Don't forget that, or you're screwed.


	23. Chapter 23

**I'm just plowing on with the storyline here—the internet's been cut out with the snow we've had over the past few days and I just got it back. So much for "dependability," optimum online. :P

Please read and review—I'm curious as to how many people are actually reading this little story of mine.

{—)K

A few hours—and thousand wing-beats—later, I finally spotted a tall evergreen nearby the location of the nest site. It seemed sturdy enough, with thick, tall branches and millions of spiny needles; it would probably support my weight. Thank god it could…I was about to drop out of the air from the combined freezing cold and exhaustion of fighting the icy, sustained winds to stay aloft. I _really _had to practice flying more. Pistoning with my wings and legs, I twisted and pulled up in mid-air, using the momentum to crash-land against the rough bark. The impact stunned me for a few seconds, and I became aware of the fact that I was falling.

((Eef—oof—owch—)) Branches whipped past me as I plummeted down, the ground a white-brown puddle beneath me that quickly grew to a pond, then a lake, then an ocean. Damn, it just kept getting bigger, and I knew that if I connected with it even my exoskeleton wouldn't save me from injury. A gunshot wound was one thing…a fall was another. Frantically I reached out with my cold limbs, scratching the bark and carving long parallel grooves in the tree's surface. Nothing happened—I continued tumbling down end over end, smacking against branches, needle-leaves pricking my eyes and antennae and streaking past in blurs of green and blackish-brown. Terror set in; I keened wildly. ((Yeeeee!))

One clawed hand bit into the bark and I was yanked to the side, the single limb almost dislocating from the weight of the rest of my body. My squeal of fear twisted into a frenzy of incoherent clicking as I grabbed at the tree with all six hands and shivered violently, burying my claws into the rough bark and hugging it close. In my peripheral vision I could see that the ground was barely thirty feet away from me right then—I had stopped falling at the last possible moment. There was someone upstairs that was watching out for me, apparently, because if I had been a _second_ too late...

I clutched at the evergreen bark for what seemed like hours, resting my head against it like a child against its parent's chest. Alright—calm down. Calm down. It's okay. You're alive. You've got to keep moving, Gregory, or you'll freeze your insect ass off in this cold. Remember? You're not warm-blooded anymore. The frogs, Greg—there are frogs here. You've got to be on guard. It's getting dark, Greg. Come on—_move!_

There was something dripping on my head. My antennae wriggled and I swiveled my neck just as an acidic, vaguely minty taste leaked onto my mandibles. It tasted good…come to think of it, I was hungry. I should have brought food or something. Immediately the instincts reacted and I chewed up the mysterious gook for a bit, hoping that my mandibles wouldn't gum up with its viscous texture. A vague notion of horror emerged in my mind, sharpened by the fear and relief of the moment. What was this stuff…did I even know what I was eating?

I looked up and saw that black pitch oozed from the long gouges I'd scoured into the tree. It trickled down in little rivulets, landing on me and winding past to drip onto the ground below. In the dimming light, it looked like blood.

((Sorry, Mr. Evergreen.)) I hesitated for a bit, patted the intact bark next to me apologetically, and began carefully crawling down to the ground level. ((I promise that next time I'll be more careful.)) If there even _was_ a next time.

{—)K

Luckily for me, there wasn't a lot of snow here. Whether it was due to the temperature—slightly warmer here at ground level, but still cold—the trees shielding the ground from any precipitation or being below the mountain snow line I had no clue. I was just glad that those pesky little ice crystals weren't sticking to my feet and landing on my wings. If there had been snow, I mused, the frogs probably wouldn't have showed up...but that was what I was testing, wasn't it?

Frogs. Right—that was why I'd almost killed myself back there with that landing. I really had to work on flying…that almost-fatal fall left much to be desired. The problem, though, was that I didn't exactly know anyone who could teach me the basics of organic flight. I'd heard stories about some kids with the European liaison that were some kind of "angels," but that sounded too iffy for me to take seriously. Even if it wasn't a rumor, bird wings were different from insect wings, so they probably couldn't help me out a whole lot…

Trudging on, I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I almost tripped over the rabbit that was lying directly in my path; only when I smelled the thick scent of blood did I halt and look down. The rabbit—well, I thought it was a rabbit. It had long ears, but there wasn't much else there to look at besides a few scraps of hide and bones—had been, quite literally, torn to pieces by some predator. I knelt down and gingerly touched the wet fur. The blood was still liquid, so that meant that it couldn't have been here for very long…but what was this other stuff? Something other then blood was soaking the poor creature's torn hide. Cautiously I lifted up a scrap of skin and let my antennae wave over it.

A rank smell communicated itself to me—something composed of old blood, crushed bone, sewer muck and a hundred other things that I didn't dare name in my head. I recognized every one of them, though—I'd smelled these scents at almost every frog raid.

This was frog spit.

All thoughts of flying forgotten, I straightened up and glanced around, senses suddenly sharpened by fear and anticipation. The rabbit-thing was quietly stretched out at my feet, ignorant and unaware of the danger of the situation. There was a frog nearby—a hungry one, too, since it had laid onto this carcass here pretty hard. Where was it; I had to find it, before it found me. It could be watching, right now...

The person upstairs must have been in a funny mood, because a dark, hunched shape bolted from behind a clump of maple trees and dashed for me. "_Sssssiiigggaahhhhh—"_

_((Holy shit!))_ I braced myself and winced as the being—damn, it was heavy. Strong too—smashed into me. In the resulting whirl and tangle of limbs I struck out, clawing wildly at the shape and keening as it wrestled with me. It was stronger then me, and all I could do was sink my mandibles and claws in the fleshy parts that smashed into my plating like hammers, like maces and whips, and hope to the Deity that _that _would be enough to save me. ((No! Ahh—get off of me! Fucking frog—_yyyyeeeee!))_

"Ssss-kkkkiiiiaaahhhuuuggghhh!" Something tore with a loud ripping noise and I was suddenly drenched with warm, acrid blood. Keening again, I got a mouthful of the stuff and choked, twisting out of the dying frog's grip and spluttering. Trying to clear the frog blood from my mandibles, I crawled away on all six limbs to a safe distance as my attacker twitched and hissed its life away, dark blood soaking the ground and watering the impassive trees that hung over both our heads. Squeaking pathetically, I stared up at their needles to avoid the scene of carnage just six feet in front of me.

There was a frog. So there were most likely more of them around somewhere. At least one of my questions had been answered…the thing had attacked a roach-person the same as it would attack any human. I was sickly grateful for that, though relief didn't come; I just felt more dread. I'd killed a frog, and if there were more frogs—no, not_ if_. This was a certainty. There were other frogs—and all the other frogs nearby heard it. Probably smelt it, or felt it, too. We didn't know what sort of knowledge they had of their fellows. They could have a freaking hive mind, as far as I knew.

I stood up, wincing as I noticed the various dents and scratches to my exoskeleton. Thankfully there were no cracks; my armor was beaten-up but still blissfully intact. That meant I could maybe survive one other frog attack, if I cut out and ran as soon as I could, and didn't stick around. Sure, like I'd be able to do _that. _Let's just try to survive this one, Greg. You've seriously fucked up now. Drenched in frog blood, already beat up, and smelling to high heaven. Anything with a nose or antennae can smell you now, not to mention that with the cold this stuff is going to freeze on you. You have no backup, and you're in the middle of a frog nest. This was such a stupid, stupid, _stupid _idea…

More shapes began moving in the forest around me—I swore and ripped the locator from my belt. Pressing the big button in the center, I had just enough time to watch it light up and toss it against the roots of a nearby tree. Okay, so as soon as the BPRD tracked the signal they'll be able to find the tree, then the nest, and then me, hopefully still alive.

I knew that there was a frog creature behind me; I could smell its breath and hear the slimy scraping of razor-sharp teeth. Slowly I turned, tucking my mandibles in underneath my head so that it wouldn't hear me whimper-clicking to myself. This was not good. _This was not good…_look, there's another frog monster to your left. Another two in front now…oh _shit._

Drawing my limbs in to protect my torso, I sighed and prepared myself for whatever might happen next. Well, prepared myself as much as I could. My mandibles barely moved as I quietly clicked.

((Hello. Uh…hi there. I'm Gregory Langelaan and it's a, um, _surprise _meeting you…))

**Yay! Another chapter successfully uploaded to fanfiction! I took a few liberties with the noises the frog monsters made—if you've got any better ideas for what they'd sound like, please let me know! ^,,^


	24. Chapter 24

**Can it be? _Two _updates in a single night? I think it can be. ^,,^This one's a super-update as well.

Once again, taking certain creative licenses with the frog monsters and their "religion." This _is _fanfiction, so I don't have to get everything right, but it would still be nice to keep it canon and believable; if I don't accomplish one of those two goals please let me know. Also, ideas are welcome, so feel free to put in your own two cents' worth. :)

{—)K

((Hello. Uh…hi there. I'm Gregory Langelaan and it's a, um, _surprise _meeting you…))

The clicks were quick and quiet. I was trying to keep a warble of fear out of my cockroach voice. I mean, that's the right thing to do, right? You can't show fear in front of any predatory animal, never mind a frog monster. You've got to play it cool, figure out an escape plan and save your skin—or in my case, exoskeleton—from getting torn to shreds and eaten. Thoughts of lobster flashed through my mind and I shuddered; that was how they would eat me. They'd crack me open and suck out my flesh, bit by bit. Wonderful—just the kind of thing I wanted to be thinking about while standing less then five feet away from a frog creature.

The main frog creature, the one in front of me, simply stared. Its eyes betrayed no emotion, no sign of its intentions—it could have been some warped jade statue, like the ones you would find in ancient Aztec temples or tiny antique shops in Chinatown. Just a statue, carved gemstone, unable to move, harmless. Not something that could—and _would_—rip you limb from limb. And eat you after.

That happy little delusion was shattered as a long, sticky tongue snaked out of the frog's mouth. It travelled up its face, quickly wiped the frog's eyeballs, and retreated back to the toothy maw. I couldn't help but shrink back in disgust at the bizarre, unexpected spectacle. Slime glistened from its face as the frog monster took a step forward. The jaws opened wider…

"You—_slliiiuuuhh_. Took—long. _Long._ Late."

The words were rough and drawn out, punctuated by salivation and the erratic movement of the frog's blistered, poisonous tongue. They were barely recognizable as English words, but still recognizable nonetheless; I managed to choke back a shrill squeak of surprise and instead tucked my antennae back. Sure, I'd heard _rumors _that they could talk, and I knew that they were getting smarter, but _talking?_ Speaking in _English?_ Damnit, even I couldn't do that. A strange wave of anger washed over me—really? The creatures that were trying to _wipe out_ humanity could speak a human language, but I couldn't?

Look, this isn't the time Gregory. Just—just try to figure out what it meant, and freak out later. Late. It said _late_. Late for what? Late for _what?_ I almost asked, then thought better of it and clenched my mandibles even tighter against the bottom of my head. For whatever reason, they hadn't killed me yet, and it was best to not do anything that could…wait. They weren't killing me right now. Why?

The blood. I was coated in frog monster blood. Maybe…when you coupled that with the similar body shape, my hunched stance, the fact that I didn't smell human…yes! Yes, that had to be it! They thought I was one of them.

The frog licked at its eyes again and made a head gesture uncannily like a nod. "Long. Late."

"_Late."_ The frog to my immediate right echoed, its voice softer, more sibilant then its fellow's. It turned and glanced at its brethren, then began walking away, its strides hunched and twitchy. It swerved around a tree, then burst into a strange, hopping run and vanished from view. The others followed it, taking slightly different routes but all of them, it seemed, lead to a single location. The nest, most likely.

The main frog was still there, staring at me with its spittle-moistened eyes. Tentatively I weighed the possibilities. I could try to run now and maybe get away; I could climb the tree just behind me and then take off once I got to the top…or I could go with the frogs and find out what they were doing. Dangerous—very dangerous—but did I really have a choice? This opportunity wouldn't show up again in the near future.

Courage, Gregory.

I nodded and stared right at the frog, my black orbs matching its green ones. Slowly I began trudging along, following the trails made by the others. When I heard the footsteps behind me I sped up just a bit, preferring to keep my distance. I didn't have to—they thought I was one of them, right? Right, hopefully—but I wanted to have as much space between me and the frogs as possible.

{—)K

It could have been a barn or even a home once, but now it wasn't. Paint peeled from the outside walls of the structure, fading and weathering into flecks of white and pale, mottled pink material. Some of it landed on my exoskeleton—I brushed it away and wistfully thought of snow. Damn, if I survived this I had all that snow to fly through to get back to the base.

Wait…I said if. _If _I survived this…oh shit. Not the best time to have doubts.

The residents were long gone; whether it was the frogs' doing or not I had no clue. Eying the odd structure of red- and brown-tinted bones in the corner—Jesus Christ, that was an _altar _of some kind, wasn't it—I swallowed and tried not to think about it too hard. Instead, I stooped and ducked my head as I walked in through the crooked hole in the wall of the decrepit building, the scents of rotted vegetable material and old, rotted flesh accosting my antennae. Strangely, there was no visible source of the smells to be seen. The frogs must have cleaned house before setting up their little nest here. Come to think of it…where were the baby frogs? Where were the eggs, or anything? This was just an empty room. My mandibles splayed out in confusion for a moment, but I tucked them back against my head—just as one of the frogs already inside turned to look at me.

"Late," It muttered with a hissing, guttural tone, moving aside to allow me passage in the small circle that had formed in the center of the building. Three frogs were squatting in the middle of the empty room, arranged around a small, stone-like object that was lying on the cold wood of the floor; with a cold chill I realized that this was one of the Ogdru Hem artifacts. I'd heard about them from Daimio, Kate, and Johann. Inside that little rock was some creature…some mutated, deadly creature, and they were going to worship it. If it hatched I'd be screwed.

My frog "escort" walked past me and joined in the circle, turning it into a close, cramped square. Two of the frogs—I couldn't really tell them apart now that they were all together—moved aside so I could join in. I did, cautiously.

"Slliggghhuughhh. Now. Now is time. Time…" One of the frogs spoke as the group stretched their hands out, almost brushing the artifact with loving caresses and careful proddings. I followed suit, remembering a second too late that my hands looked nothing like theirs. They seemed too focused on the artifact to notice; I decided that drawing my hands back in would only call attention to myself. No, the best thing here would be to simply follow along.

"Time. Time. Our love—our blessing—time. _Slliggigguuuhhg."_ The frog continued speaking, tongue darting around sharklike teeth, eyes wide and trained on the egg-shaped thing on the ground. "It is time. Time pass. Time will pass, and—_sliigh_—we will be."

"We will be." Another added reverently. "Enemies—they will not. Not-be, but we—_we _will remain."

"Our Blessing…our Loved. They—they watch. They _know_. They _protect_—" Queasily I noticed that the egg was beginning to shiver ever so slightly and an odd glow was playing about its surface. It was a dim, cobalt-blue light, but with every passing moment it grew brighter. My instincts began rebelling, urging me to turn and flee, but I was paralyzed. I couldn't move—I could only crouch there, hands brushing up against this warm artifact, and listen to the slithery preaching of a frog monster.

"Protect us. We do Their work. We listen, and They act. Our Loved. Our Blessing. We are blessed."

"Blessed!" With unmistakable joy, the three other frogs joined in. "We are blessed! Our Love works through us! We—we are the last ones! The Blessed ones!"

"Blessed ones!"

"_Blessed_ ones!"

((Blessed ones…)) Numbly I heard myself click the words. The Ogdru Hem artifact was shining now, and as I watched with growing tunnel vision it soared up into the air, hovering right above our heads. Automatically our hands and faces followed its arc, turning up like we were flowers, and this was the sun. The light blinded me and I thought fleetingly about turning away, of blinking, shrinking back, but ignored it. This was life-giving, this was beautiful, this was wonderful…and it shone only for them. For us…

My vision brightened until all I could see was that radiant blue. Images played behind my eyes; scenes of battles, fights, lives—lives of the frog creatures, who had given up everything for their gods, and in turn had received everything. Was this really what they thought? Did they really think this way?

Yes. Yes, they had, because they knew that if they did…another concept burned itself into my mind, shoving aside instinct and reason. The world, not too soon but soon enough; empty, blood-streaked, devoid of human life. No humans in black to kill and maim us and our Loved, no machines that spit metal at us, nothing to harm or kill us, ever again. Through the blue light, tenticles reached out to wrap around me and the frog creatures, cradle us close and never let go. A Paradise, all alone—nothing but the Blessed and the Loved and that light—

Fear shot through me—what the hell was I _doing?!_ A world without humans, a world populated solely by frogs and the Ogdru Hem—that was the exact thing I'd been trying to _prevent!_ How could I sit back and let this continue?!

A sibilant voice whispered through my brain, speaking in words that to me were just gibberish. Gibberish, yet oddly soothing gibberish…oddly hypnotic and comforting…

I wrenched myself away from the circle and keened wildly, whipping my head back and forth to clear it. The images of Blessed Ones and Loved, of paradise and apocalypse all crumbled away; my vision cleared. I stumbled back, arms flailing about wildly…the sudden absence of the light and the newsreel of things to come almost brought me to my knees. How far had I almost fallen?

Panting, antennae waving, I whirled around—only to see the four snarling faces surrounding me, razor-sharp teeth bared in horrifying rage.


	25. Chapter 25

**Okay. I was very unhappy with how this chapter turned out, so I decided to edit it a bit, switch some things around in sequence and add more stuff so that the entire story will flow better from here on in. A brand-new chapter is in the works, and should be uploaded soon. :)

{—)K

I managed to fight them off somehow—I have no idea what I did—and flee far enough away so that their hoarse, hissing cries of anger and surprise couldn't reach me. Their teeth couldn't reach me anymore either, though it was too late. I managed to comprehend that something was broken, another thing was ripped; pain clouded my thoughts and hampered all but the slightest, simplest of actions. Instinct screamed and grabbed my internal wheel, guiding me past tree after tree after tree and reacting in blind terror to everything that moved, that ventured into my line of sight. What I tore into and rent to shreds I had no idea—it was an enemy and I had to take it out to save myself. The frogs—no, they couldn't get me—I had to run from them, the frogs—

_Blessed Ones…_

((No!)) Finally I gave up trying to run anymore and collapsed, something soft breaking my fall and cushioning the gouges in my plating. Vaguely I noticed the smell of crushed pine needles—forest. I was in the forest. The frogs…were they there…?

Silence answered my question. Nothing stirred now that I had ceased all movement; not even the feeble twitching of my antennae broke the quiet that hung heavy in the air like a blanket. Blanket…it was cold. So cold out…dark too. Night was here. I was cold and hurt, and it was dark out, and nobody except the frogs knew where I had been. Nobody knew where I was now.

Voices. Vague ones…a roaring in the air, vibrating my antennae. Were the frogs here—had they found me? Maybe. Oh well…guess they wanted to finish the job off themselves. The cold was going to do that anyway. Things were blurring into blobs and streaks of color that progressively dimmed to darker and darker shades.

Feebly I curled up, feeling wound rub and shriek against wound and wanting to cry. Wetness trickled into my mandibles, but try as I might I couldn't spit it out. This was my blood, I knew it—I'd gone and gotten myself killed. Figures. I survive a can of Raid but die under a pine tree.

I'm sorry guys, I'm sorry Daimio, Jink, Roger, Kate, Johann, Abe…I'm sorry…

{—)K

The environment had changed since I last noticed it, or at least my perception of it had. Whereas I'd been in a forest before, now I floated in an inky expanse of numbness, without any recognizable borders or objects within it. Stretching out a hand, I found that there was nothing for me to touch or encounter that told me I was actually moving. Only the memory of having willed my limbs to move told me that the action had occurred at all. The darkness hadn't changed in the slightest—still the same comforting quiet and stillness. It was as if I'd been struck blind, deaf, and dumb. My mandibles moved in silent laughter—or at least I thought they did.

At least the cold wasn't here, or the pain; where the two sensations had gone, I had no idea. I didn't really want to think about it too much—better to just enjoy the warmth and darkness instead of pondering why it was here and where it had come from. The absence of agony made it much easier to think, but thought wasn't the thing I wanted right now. It would be so much better to rest, and relax…forget recent events and just enjoy the warmth. Just drift along…

This new place reminded me of getting Novocain shots at the dentist's office, back when I had teeth, and the desire to keep them straight, white and strong. You knew that something involving drills and your mouth tissues was going on, and that it wasn't good, but you didn't care in the slightest. It didn't hurt—you didn't feel it, so it was almost like it wasn't happening. When it wore off, though, you remembered that it was real.

I snapped a few brain cells into service at that. When would this wear off? Would this blessed silence fade away soon; would something interrupt it and bring me back to the pain and the cold? The question leaked out of my skull and diffused into the amniotic expanse, but no answer came.

_La cucaracha, la cucaracha,_

_ya no puede caminar_

_porque no tiene, porque le falta_

_Una pata para andar._

The unmistakable melody floated out from the abyss and gently folded itself around my antennae. I felt the feelers for a second—sensation returned and I recoiled from the feeling of pain. The lyrics distorted and dropped in pitch, becoming a low, indistinct rumble, like thunder. A few more moments and it swooped up again, starting the second verse.

_Ya murió la cucaracha_

_ya la llevan a enterrar_

_entre cuatro ranas_

_y un monstruo calamar._

Was I insane? Was I dying? Maybe I was already dead, and this little jingle would be my only company for eternity. Secretly I hoped not; even though I loved "La Cucaracha," it got annoying from time to time. If this was really all I was going to experience for the rest of my conscious existence, I was really going to lose it. Well, more than already, I guess.

Again, the melody twisted and shifted in pitch, this time to something much higher and clearer then the thunder before.

"Gregory! Holy shit—Greg! Greg…oh Spark." Something nudged my side.

Wait…Jink?

Somewhere in the ringing echo of words, I smelled pine needles.

{—)K

**Cookies to anyone who can provide the English lyrics to "La Cucaracha" that I incorporated into this chapter! There are multiple versions of the first verse, and I do digress that I changed a few words in the second verse, so it's not as easy as it appears…good luck! Buena suerte! ;)


	26. Chapter 26

**Hooray! Another chapter! I apologize for the _massive _delay in posts—the internet decided to cut out on me for over a week. Yeah, a _week._ It was awful.

So anyway, here you go. I tried to include a tiny bit of fluff in this chapter, but fluff isn't my strong suit. It's probably not there, but oh well. Please read and review, and tell me how I did! ^,,^

{—)K

"…so he'll be okay?"

"For the last time, _yes._ The docs patched him up, didn't they? The bug'll be fine."

"But look at him!"

"…"

"He's just _lying_ there. Why can't he move or something…?"

"I don't know, Jink. At this rate you'll talk him to death."

"Shut it, Captain Zombie. That ain't funny."

Voices? The noise patterns registered dimly and I became aware of movement, of air swishing against my antennae, scents and chemical messages on tiny eddies of wind. Silently the instincts tried to analyze them; something had them druggy and quiet, their pressure barely impacting my thoughts. I'd have to think about that later.

I was resting on something that was soft and smelled familiar. Pressure on my wings and the sensation of cool air on my underbelly told me that I was on my back somewhere. Vulnerable. Open to attack. I almost panicked before remembering that Jink was here, Daimio was here, or at least their voices were. The darkness was still there, preventing me from looking at them. I twitched my antennae, let my gaze roll around to take in as much of the environment as I could—nothing. Inky black.

Was I _blind_? Had the frogs _blinded _me? My stomach flipped and plummeted far beneath me, making a sickening grinding noise. I shuddered; sure, I could get by on scent, sound, taste and touch, but—blind?! No, no please let me not be blind…

"Gregory—?!"

"Bug! What the hell are you—?"

((Not blind not blind not blind—)) I twisted and rolled over, letting my wings flare up and stretch from their cramped, squashed position. A dull tearing sound came—cloth bandages, hopefully, and not my own tissue—and suddenly daylight streamed in, bright and blinding. The sudden burst of illumination on my light-deprived eyes flicked a switch in my brain; I froze instantly in place. _Flee!_ No—analyze. Where are you, Gregory?

Something soft draped over my mandibles. Awkwardly I looked down and saw it: another cloth bandage. It had been over my eyes, apparently. Strange. Why?

Doctors. Daimio mentioned doctors…probably for their benefit. I don't blink, and that's unsettling for most. If they had indeed "patched me up," they would have either requested that my eyes be covered or they could have done it themselves. I didn't remember any of the two, which meant that time had passed since I was in the woods…

"Gregory—calm down, man. It's okay. You're here at the base." Jink's face was fuzzy and indistinct, but quickly focused. Her hat was gone, and her hair frizzed out from her hair as if electrified. Haha. Do you have static, Jink? I wouldn't be surprised, saying as you're a human generator. It happens to the best of us, Jink.

"You're okay? Just nod yes or no."

((I think so.)) I stiffly brought my head up, then down, ignoring the wave of vertigo that accompanied the motion. Secretly, I had no idea. Was I okay? The pain was gone—that was always a good sign, but still…had to check that statement. Bracing myself, I looked down at my body…and balked.

Most of me was covered in bandages. Each of my arms was wrapped separately in clean white gauze; my middle-left arm was significantly shorter then I last remembered. Alarm shot through me before I realized that it wasn't amputated: the hand had been simply bent in on itself and wrapped more then the others. Not good, but better then my initial thoughts. A thin tube poked out from the bundle of hand and bandage and led away to a small IV drip that stood next to me on the bed. That was _not_ a good sign…I didn't like the idea of pain medicine. Even now the doctors weren't too sure how it could affect me…I reached out and unhooked it from the thin metal stand, setting it beside me on the bed. No more pain medicine for me—I was doing fine now, and that was all I needed. Roaches were tough little critters. I'd live.

Queasily I continued my analysis. Three major gouges adorned my abdomen—my antennae were stiff and slightly swollen from the trauma of repeated blows to the head. I couldn't see my back or my head, but something told me that they weren't unscathed either. The frogs had really done a number on me, hadn't they?

((Oof—yeah. Yeah, I'm fine…where am I?)) When no answer came, I decided to check for myself; cautiously I tried to sit up. My legs could barely push me up into a vertical position, so I flopped onto my side and continued the attempt from there. After almost a minute, I did it.

I was in my room. My previous observation had been right; the familiar scent was coming from my blanket-nest. Someone had moved them from underneath the bed to on top of it; the egg case sat silently on a chair on the opposite side of the room, twitching a bit. If I wasn't so damned tired and confused, I would go over and check it. I was, though, so that was something I'd have to do later. Later. I have a lot of things I have to do "later," don't I? Like that paperwork. Or do I get exempt on the grounds that I got cornered by frogs? No—it was an unauthorized mission. I took off without verifying where I was going, so that not only meant that I still had those reports to do, I now had even more to do. Great…

"So, you're going to be back up to par soon?" Daimio commented, seemingly impassive. As I watched his features, however, a flicker of—what? Anger? Concern? It was too quick to tell—flitted across his face, shattering the look of calm indifference before hastily vanishing again. The change in expression was so sudden and unexpected that I doubted its existence—no. There it was again.

Tentatively I nodded again. ((Yes. As soon as I can.))

He jerked his head at the door and glared at Jink. "You. Go."

"Why the hell should I—" Jink caught a glimpse of that sudden anger and wilted mid-sentence. "Fine." Mulishly she opened the door—was that me, or did she spark a bit there?—and vanished down the hall.

Daimio strode over to the door and closed it—she'd left it open. Hand still on the doorknob, the captain paused for a few seconds and tensed; a low growling sound emanated from him. I could only guess at its meaning…was he swearing, or was this a purely animalistic sound of irritation? I didn't know, and that set alarm bells off in my head. Well, the logical alarm bells—my instincts tried to warn me, but only succeeded in dopily bringing up thoughts of safety. Pain medicine was still in effect, it seemed.

My captain's voice jolted me out of the developing train of thought. Daimio had covered the short distance from door to bed very quickly while I was lost in thought—he was very close now, and he was angry. His voice thundered.

"What the _hell_ were you _thinking?!_"

{—)K

Aaaaand I'm getting kicked off the computer, so that's it for now. Update pending.


	27. Chapter 27

**Okay, fist of all I'd like to thank Artemiss-K-Arrow (aka AKA) for reviewing _fifteen times_ in one day. That's pretty freakin' awesome, in my opinion. *gives cookie* A big, _big_ thanks to everyone else who has been reading; you guys make it more worthwhile. ^,,^

So now, without further ado: the next chapter!

{—)K

"What the _hell _were you _thinking?!"_

He was mad. That much was obvious; from this close up the full extent of his facial scarring became painfully evident. I could see a few teeth through the gaping hole in his cheek, grinding and sliding past one another, slick with saliva and slightly stained with coffee and tobacco tar. Quickly I looked away, wincing as the smell of stale cigar smoke lashed out at my antennae. It was as if the scent itself was angry with me—Daimio was livid and every bit of that furious energy was focused on me alone. Oh god, _please_ don't let him do anything drastic…no Raid, please. I know I worshipped the wrong thing back there at that forest, but I swear that was an accident—protect me please…

"You left without telling me—your _superior officer!_—or anyone else. I'm supposed to fucking keep track of all of you—how the hell can I do that if you fly off without leaving anything but a freaking note?!" Daimio's voice was a roar—my antennae shrunk back from the blast of sound energy and pressed against my head, throbbing painfully. I felt something collide with my upper abdomen and land on my lap, but didn't dare look down at it. Too dangerous…best to wait for him to finish, then do it.

"Did you think that we could just wait until you came back? In your dreams—I had to call the chopper as soon as we realized you weren't anywhere here at the base. You've wasted government time, resources—" The captain breathed in sharply, his voice shifting upward in pitch for a few seconds before he launched into his next sentence. "What the hell did you expect to find? What the _hell_ were you looking for?!"

For once, I was glad that I had nothing to write with, and therefore no way to communicate. That was an excuse, a way of delaying the truth. My mandibles unfurled, then tucked back in. I didn't know what to say—rather, I didn't know what to say that would make sense. This was the second time I'd struck out on my own, and the second time I'd caused a fuss. If I wasn't one of the "freaks," I knew that Daimio would have had my badge underneath his boot by now. Since I was, I had a lot to answer for.

The object in my lap was my note, crumpled up and wadded into a small ball, as if someone had held it in a tightly-clenched fist. The edges were singed and smelled of ash—whether this was Jink or Liz's doing, I could only guess. Jink, most likely…what must she have thought when she read it?

Clumsily I unfolded it and smoothed out some of the worst wrinkles, groping around for a pen with one of the least-bandaged hands. My head was spinning; Daimio's shouts rattled around in my brain, coupled with the insistence of the instincts that I _flee, _that I get the heck out of here and hide—no. No, I deserved this. I survived the frogs; I can survive getting yelled at.

A pen somehow found its way into my hand and I was writing, the words jagged and untidy.

_I had to know_

"Know what? Greg, this better not be some—"

His words blurred as pain began wrapping around my thoughts. The pain medicine was gone now…that was good and bad. They muffled almost everything but the truth, the utter conviction and stupidity of my actions. It was all so futile and sentimental, and I was ashamed of it, but I had to be honest about it. No amount of lies would explain it better then what I actually had thought.

_I had to know that I wasn't like them. That I wasn't one of the things we've been fighting all along. I know I'm not human anymore, but still,_

A small tearing sound startled me; the pen jabbed through the paper and left a small ink-stained hole, like a bullet wound. I became aware of the fact that I was chattering, making odd croaking noises like a strangled bird. The best thing I had to crying.

Damn. _Damnit_ Gregory—this isn't the time to break down like this. That place in your mind should have never been visited, never explored. You should have left well enough alone, Gregory, and stopped asking stupid questions.

_I wanted to know if I'm still on the same side as you._

Silence greeted me—a far cry from what I expected. Rather then yell, or even make a snide remark, Daimio simply stood there, staring at me. That anger was still on his face, but it had softened somewhat; a thundercloud instead of a clap of lightening and thunder. Still there, still threatening, but more distant.

"You had to know if you were still on our side."

What else was there to say? I nodded.

"Damnit." His voice was rough—I had the sense that I wasn't the only one this comment was directed at. "Look, I'm no philosopher. I leave that crap to Kate and people with too much time on their hands." His visible teeth gnashed together, then separated as he continued. "But you're on our side, Greg. That's it. The end. Now stop thinking about it. We've got bigger things to worry about."

He crossed to the door and turned the doorknob. Pausing, he muttered something; I managed to catch only the last few words before my superior walked out of the room. "...like you isn't on our side, then who is?"

{—)K

**Ooh…what do you think Daimio meant to say? Next chapter will be uploaded soon. I promise! *big Gregory hugs*


	28. Chapter 28

**Sorry about the delay (again) but stuff came up and I forgot about updating or writing for almost an entire week. :'( I'm typing this up on a public library computer right now, so as not to keep you all waiting for any longer. I hope I don't get a staph infection from this nasty keyboard…

Anyway, a point of interest: this chapter will see both the introduction of another OC of mine, and a new challenge. If you can tell me where the opening quote came from, you're awesome. (I'll give you a hint—it's a book.) Have fun!

{—)K

"_A roach is a creature no-one can love, but you cannot kill it. It will just go on and on and on. Just try to get rid of it."_

This wasn't the best thing to be reading right now. I slowly closed the book and set it down next to me, feeling the hard cover sink into the soft fabric of the armchair. My thoughts turned to how much I'd been enjoying that book before those few sentences popped up and ruined it—life tends to do that. There will be one thing that you enjoy, and sooner or later something will come along and twist it so that you can't stand it anymore. You've just got to hope that the attraction returns…that really was a good novel. Maybe later I would try to open it up again and continue.

For the past few days I'd been allowed to hang around the base; until I was fully healed and the doctors said it was okay, I was exempt from fieldwork. It sounded bad at first—there were _frogs_ out there. How could I sit idly here while others went out to fight them?—but Daimio, Jink and even Johann all told me that I couldn't even fight off a seagull in a dumpster if I had to right now, let alone a frog monster. Well, actually it was Jink that said that…Johann simply said it was a "very bad idea" to go back to work so soon, and Daimio just glared at me until I slunk off, but the general idea is the same. So here I was, playing around in the library and sitting in this incredibly cushy armchair. I'd already made up all the paperwork, and the prospect of reading something _other _than reports had been too tempting to pass up. This chair had been too comfortable to pass up, too—

A thoughtful voice quietly intruded my thoughts; it was expressive, and for the life of me I couldn't tell if it was male or female. It seemed somewhat like a guy's voice, but it was too vague and mumbling to tell. "Three sides. Everything has three sides. Gotta remember that…" It trailed off into an awkward silence and then continued, as if correcting itself. "Well, triangles don't, but still gotta remember…"

((Hello?)) I looked around wildly, antennae twitching and throbbing as they roved for the source of the sound. The closest thing seemed to be a nearby pile of books, but I personally had no idea where the words had come from. Maybe they hadn't come from anywhere, and I'd simply imagined them.

"Hello?" A tuft of something blue and furry poked out from behind the wall of novels. "Is anyone there?" Two wide grey eyes followed the electric blue and blinked. "Oh. Wow. Hi there." The rest of the face rose up above the hardback covers, revealing a somewhat thin face and the kind of grin that tells you that the person isn't really 'all there." I'm not saying psychotic—just very distracted and thoughtful.

I held up a card. _Hello. I'm Gregory Langelaan. Who are you?_

The grey eyes rolled to the left, following the text. "Tony. Tony…uh, Crogiolo." That odd collection of syllables rolled by too quickly for me to fully hear; before I could hold up a card and ask him to repeat himself he shrugged. "You don't have to pronounce that correctly. Just call me Tony."

I revised what I was writing and held up the note. _Okay. Hi Tony._

It was clear that he was used to comments about his last name—he had the same air about him as I often did when explaining my appearance to people—and wasn't too disturbed about having a conversation with a cockroach. Even better, a beat-up, writing cockroach. That could either mean that he'd seen things that were stranger, he was strange in some way himself, or he was crazy. All three of those qualities are common to employees and agents of the BPRD. Besides, he was in the BPRD library, in a restricted base. It wasn't like they just let people in here to poke around.

_Do you work here? I haven't seen you before, but you seem like someone who works for the BPRD._

Brow furrowed, Tony blinked and stood up, weaving around the mountain of books with a curious bobbling motion; he walked as if someone had strapped springs to the bottom of his feet. When combined with his expression and hair color, it made him look somewhat like an overgrown teenager or Smurf. Still, he had to be at least in his twenties…he looked much older then Jink and reminded me of what I was like before the metamorphosis. Well, what I would have looked like if I had had blue hair.

Ramble ramble ramble.

"Yeah. I work for the BPRD." Tony grinned, pronouncing the name of the agency as 'bip-perd.' "I was transferred here about…eh, I think three days ago. I really don't know. I've been here in the library since I arrived." He nodded at the bookshelves, that faraway grin on his face. "There are a lot of good things to read here. There's Moby Dick and a few essays on tachyons and some copies of old bibles, not to mention the _complete_ set of Marco Polo's journals. Well, copies actually, but they're still good for absorbing. I really loved the descriptions of Oriental dragons and the results of their travels…"

He trailed off and glanced down at a watch on his right wrist. "Oh man—I've got to go. See you around, Gregory Langelaan." Before I could write a response he'd jogged back to the pile of books, plucked a few of them up and dashed out the door.

Strange guy.

{—)K

**I know this is short and kinda choppy, but I'll update again later today and get back to my usual schedule of one update every four or so days. Adios, and please keep reading!


	29. Chapter 29

**As promised, here's the next chapter. Hopefully this one is better then the last; I'm trying to get back into my old rhythm. Still, it's mostly dialogue and little to no action, in order to press on to the good stuff.

Also, the challenge still stands, but in this chapter I'm supplying another hint: the author of the book. Now you've got two hints—I know you can do it!

{—)K

A sugary scent and Jink's voice brought me into alertness some time later. She'd come back from the frog mission—thank god, still in one piece. No noticeable injuries—and had settled herself down in an armchair adjacent to mine while I had 'slept.' She looked up from a comic book and grinned as I waved at her, then tossed a coke can over to me. The cold aluminum cylander landed in my lap and immediately chilled my exoskeleton; it was a nice feeling, like having an ice pack on your belly.

"Heya Greg. Nobody stole your pants?"

I nodded and reached down for a card; I'd left them in a little pile on the armrest, but they had fallen down while I'd been dozing. Now, the little rectangles of white paper lay scattered in a heap on the floor, somewhat dusty but still usable. There was something about their haphazard placement that made me feel sad—they looked so calm, just lying there, accepting their punishment. It was a stupid thing to think, but I felt as if I'd abandoned them there after all they'd done for me. Poor notecards…

Scooping them up in my good, non-bandaged hands, I began lifting it up only to pause and notice the novel I'd been reading.

Had I closed it when I set it down? I thought I did—generally I don't leave books lying open. It damages their spines and makes them hard to close again. But the book was now upside-down on the ground and opened. Gently I picked it up and placed it on my lap; a sticky note was attached to the page, covered in slanted, scratchy writing.

_Hello Gregory Langelaan. Hope you don't mind that I took a look at this book—I really do love Sue Monk Kidd, and it's been a while since I last read this little jewel over. Have you ever read __The Mermaid Chair?__ It's not as good, in my opinion, but it's still a fun read. Oh, by the way, you really should go to the docs or something. You were twitching in your sleep. Well, technically you can't sleep since you're a roach but still for the sake of—_

The writing ran clear off the side of the note mid-sentence. Mandibles clicking, I turned the note over—more lines were penned on the adhesive strip on the back and all the way down the other side of the note.

—_an argument I'll call it that. What's it like "sleeping" as a roach? Is it interesting? Do you dream? It would be fun to learn about that. Oh, also, how about we have a cup of coffee sometime? I'm open today around three-in-the-afternoonish, as soon as these pesky meetings are done, and it's always nice meeting new people. They don't let me out of the bases that much (gov't security measures…go figure) so it would be fun to talk. -Tony_

That Tony person was strange…I really had to talk with him again. Blearily I twitched my antennae, wincing as they protested and throbbed. That stiffness was still there, after these few days…hopefully it would be gone soon. There were things to do, jobs to complete, and I was no help to anyone lying asleep in a library. Well, the roach equivalent of asleep. Same difference, really.

Jink's eyes narrowed and she frowned at me. "'Sup? Someone actually steal your pants? Or belt? Whatever clothing you got?"

I shook my head and passed the card over to her, shrugging with my bandaged arms. Slowly I wrote with my unoccupied hands. _No, it's not that. I just met this man called Tony a little while ago. He left that note, and also_… I paused and sighed squeakily, wondering if I should actually write down what I was thinking. After a few seconds of contemplation I decided that I would. It couldn't hurt. _I'm feeling pretty useless right now. It's bumming me out a bit. Sorry._

"Jeez…whoever wrote this switches subjects faster then a politician. Who is this guy?" Jink held up the sticky note and raised an eyebrow. "He sounds…I dunno, kinda cool and kinda weird." She saw my notecard and plucked that from my grip, reading it over. "What are you trying to say…?"

She shook her head almost immediately. "You're not useless, Greg. Really man, you aren't. I mean…you got your ass whooped by a bunch of frogs. That takes time to heal, and—"

_It's just that, though. I feel like an idiot for going out and getting an ass-whooping when I'm already needed here. Now you, Roger and everyone else have to cover me._

Jink sighed and scratched her head. "I'm not gonna lie…extra jobs suck." Quickly she continued, holding her hands up and shrugging a bit. "_But_ they're also kinda fun. I mean, it's nice going outside the base, even if it's to kill a bunch of mutated beasties from hell's vacation spot. You just gotta find the good in it."

_Really?_ I understood what she was trying to say. I wasn't helping others right now, but I _had_ caught up on my reading and rest. I'd spent some time with the egg case, and even now I was having some fun despite my injuries. For now, I really had no choice but to take the break and find a way to enjoy it.

"You betcha." Jink nodded, then cracked open a can of Dr. Pepper. "Now let's have some pop and then find this Tony guy. Sound good?"

It sounded good. I picked up my cola can and snapped it open. ((Cheers.))


	30. Chapter 30

**Sorry once again for the delay; here's the next chapter. ^,,^

Nobody answered the challenge; the book was The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. I like the book; I suggest you read it. Oh, and I finally signed up for the BPRD newsletter. I'm getting updates on new comic issues and character developments, people! It's pretty freakin' awesome. :D

{—)K

A loud banging noise interrupted my just as I brought the cola can to my mouth, ruining my first sip making me flinch. The cola spilled onto my stomach and soaked into my bandages—brown on off-white, sticky, cold and prickly with bubbles. My wounds stung and I winced a bit, trying to ignore the feeling of carbonation leaking past the gouges in my exoskeleton and _into me_.

Jink's head snapped up. "What the hell was that?" She unfurled her limbs and stood up, looking at me with confusion on her features. "Did you hear that?"

I nodded. Instinctually, my antennae began twitching and I noticed that the scent of acrid smoke was drifting past, faint but getting stronger with each passing moment. I was in that special, startled frame of mind where time has no meaning and everything is quiet and calm; I realized that I'd messed up my bandages and that something was wrong. Something had blown up…what was it? Was this an attack? Oh please let it not be that…please let everyone be alright and not hurt…

Jink had put her Dr. Pepper down and was halfway to the door by the time the alarms went off, clamoring for attention and sending daggers of pain shooting through my antennae. Tucking them back for protection, I dropped my soda—not the issue, I'll clean up the spill later—and followed her, clicking swearwords to myself. My pace was limited by my protesting limbs—I couldn't balance on my weak lower knees and keep up at the same time. Dropping to all-sixes, I chattered and sped up. Locomotion was faster now that I had all of my legs to walk on, and I tried to ignore the squealing of my instincts—yes, I knew that things were bad, yes, I knew that I was hurt, now shut it already—just what was going on?

Loud _whoop-whoop _noises echoed down the hall; flashes of (I could only assume) red light played about the tile floor and white walls of the medical wing—that was where the sound had come from. Smoke was beginning to drift from a door halfway down the corridor, little puffs of grey that refracted the grey of the alarm lights. Jink sped up and bolted inside, swearing vehemently. A few crashing noises came and the alarms cut out.

The sudden absence of sound startled me even more then its appearance had, and I stopped short. Suddenly, things weren't as chaotic and alarming—haha, no pun intended, trust me—as they had been. In fact, they were…quiet. Almost pretty, with the smoke lazily drifting by…

That was _not_ good. I dashed to the door and stopped just outside the source of the billowing smoke, mandibles waving in fear. Was Jink okay? What about the people who had been inside?

((Jink?)) I wobbled onto my back feet and carefully picked closer to the door. ((Jink? Are you okay? _Jink_?))

"Alright. Here—come on, try not to breathe yet." Relief surged through me as Jink's voice emerged from the wall of grey. A vague shape appeared in the haze and moved closer, hunched over and coughing furiously. "Fuck, I can't see—"

Reaching out with my top pair of hands, I grasped cloth and yanked her out of there. Slight resistance greeted me: I didn't know if it was due to my general weakness or because there was more than one person to pull on. Oof, that sounded wrong—nevermind. Get them out of the room before they die of smoke inhalation.

I wasn't as weak as I thought I was—Jink stumbled out of the room, along with a sooty, vaguely familiar figure. Reaching out an arm, I guided them both to the wall so they could support themselves against its sturdy surface. ((Here. Just rest for a second…)) I began looking around for the fire extinguisher. There had to be something on fire in there for there to be _that_ much smoke…best to put it out before it spread and took out a few more labs too. What had blown up, and why?

My answer came quicker then I'd expected.

"Oh, hey there Kafka. Did you get my sticky note?" The soot-blackened figure straightened up and waved at me, revealing itself to be none other then Tony. Tony Crog—alright, I'm not even going to bother trying to say the name. I can't, not even mentally. He brushed back his blue hair—it was darker now with grime, more like teal then electric blue—and blinked, a bit dazed. He exhaled a puff of smoke and watched it float away. "And wow, I think something blew up."

Jink coughed a bit and stared incredulously at the man. "Sticky note? What's up, you hit your head or something?"

"Erm…no. At least, not now. Everything's in order upstairs, but I still have to put the rug in." Tony flashed that not-quite-there smile at her and looked back at me. "So how about that coffee, huh? I was just testing the froggies' physiology. I had a sample of liver tissue boiling—do you know that they don't store as much sugar as we do? In their liver? Yeah; this is the tenth time and there's still no starch in the tissue. Only sucrose and maltose—_eek!"_ A look of sudden, complete horror crossed his features.

I moved in a little closer. ((What is it—?))

Whether he was talking to us or himself was a mystery. "It'll boil over! The Benedict and Lugol's solution will boil over! I gotta get it out of there before it vaporizes! _Gaah!"_ With that, he lunged inside and vanished into the smoke before any of us could stop him. Crashing sounds came, muffled through the smoke, as well as a hissing noise. I held Jink back and stopped her from following Tony once I recognized it—flame-retardant foam. He knew what we was doing…whatever it was that he was doing.

"Oof—owch—_burning_hothot_hot_hothotburning_hot_HOT—_"_ Tony scurried out of the room, test tube clutched in a oven-mitt hand. That horrified look on his face was quickly replaced by contentment as he analyzed the contents of the glass cylinder: bubbling, dark-grey fluid.

"Red as bricks. That's the tenth time, so that's pretty much proven. The whitecoats want to say otherwise, that's their problem." He tossed the test tube into the room again, as well as the mitt. Small crashing noises came as he locked the door behind him and turned to face Jink and me.

"So, how about that coffee, huh?"


	31. Chapter 31

**Another update! I'm typing this while listening to the main theme from Requiem for a Dream, so if any unintentional depression leaks in, please let me know. (Watch that movie. It's amazing, really it is. I think I've cried three times already.)

This chapter somewhat fleshes out Tony Crogiolo, at least for the time being. Let me know what you guys think of him!

{—)K

This had to be one of the strangest conversations I'd ever had, and that included that one with Roger about not wearing pants. Heck, it even included that talk with Jink about the "different shades of gay." There are ten, if you'd like to know, and they range from flame-orange to light rainbow. I'm fine if you happen to roll that way, actually, so please don't think I'm against that.

Tony hadn't bothered to change out of his blackened clothing, or even clean the soot from his hair and skin. He'd half-dragged us to the cafeteria and poured three cups of coffee, all the time talking at us about his recent experimentations with the frog creatures. I say talking _at us _because he seemed oblivious to our reactions or understanding of the topic—in my case, lack thereof. I had the feeling that if we ran out of the room and left behind cardboard cutouts of ourselves, he'd just continue to talk happily about starch and its place in the frog creature bloodstream. He _did not_ stop talking…what was the difference between starch, glucose, monosaccharide and glycogen anyway? More importantly, what was the point of it?

He added some milk to his coffee and grinned as it lightened considerably. How someone could drink coffee that had that much milk in it was beyond me, but then again I'd added about twelve tablespoons of sugar to my own. Pot calling the kettle black, and all that. "Oh, in case you didn't know, monosaccharides are the simple things that you use for energy. Glucose and sucrose, and galactose too—they're simple sugars. If there's too much of that in your blood in a normal human, it gets converted to a disaccharide, like maltose, and then a starch like glycogen. Then those get stuffed in your liver until you need them again. In the frogs, though, you've got tons and tons of glucose, but almost no maltose and starch. There's an awful lot of animo acids and urea floating around in there too, so I'm guessing that they've got a lot of protein in their diets—"

"Yeah, because they _eat people._" Jink sat back in her chair and glared at Tony, coffee untouched. I could feel that familiar static crackle—he had to watch where he stepped before she shocked him. Hopefully he'd hear the warning in her voice. "I've seen it. Only thing I'm wondering, Mr. _Science Geek_, is if you've seen that shit too." _Because I doubt you have._

She didn't say that part out loud, but then again she didn't have to. You could hear it in her voice. Jink was reminding him of the situations that had led to those frog creature samples, and the people that had—almost certainly—died before the frogs had been killed or captured. Most likely killed; the BPRD hadn't taken live frogs since that lab fiasco a while back.

Tony stared at her for a few moments, then sighed and gazed at the tan-colored liquid in his mug. The cheerful tone in his voice faded away with his grin. "Yes. Yes, I have. More then I'd like to." He sat quietly for a few seconds, seemingly sunk in some private sadness, then shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Triangles."

_Everything has more than three sides, except for triangles._ I took out a pen and scribbled on a napkin, trying to steer the conversation away from this new topic and back onto lighter issues. Not that I wanted to hear another dissertation on biochemistry—I just didn't like the looks on Jink's or Tony's faces.

_How long have you been studying this? You sound like you've got a Ph. D in this sort of thing._

"Triangles? What the hell does that mean? People died, and you're gonna talk about geometry?" Jink ignored my card and continued to shoot death-glares at Tony. "Have you ever thought about their families while you're sitting in that lab? Why the hell did you want to talk to us anyway?"

I chittered and pointed to the makeshift note, scribbling in another sentence in the white space underneath the writing. _How long have you been studying science? You sound like you've got a Ph. D. in that sort of thing. Please don't fight guys. _

Grey eyes flicked to the card as Tony sipped at his coffee. "Well…I don't spend all my time in the lab, first of all. I've been out in the field, same as you guys have. I noticed the vests. I'm not stalking you or anything creepy like that," he said, warding off the next question I was about to write down. "I just wanted to try meeting some other BPRD wards. You know, 'freaks' and stuff."

Air quotes accompanied the dreaded word, and then his fingers moved up to his head to curl in the blue hair. "Oh, and I don't have a Ph. D. in anything." He blushed a bit. "None of those other fancy schmancy degrees either."

"_Freaks?_ You wanted to meet the _freaks?_" Jink stood up and sparked. "That's what we are to you? That's really fucking kind, asshole."

((She's right.)) I clicked, then hissed quietly to punctuate my point. "Freak" wasn't a title I carried with pride; it went on the same list as "pest" and "bug." No matter what the person meant—joke or not—I _hated_ being called that. Jink did too, apparently.

Tony seemed to realize his error and balked. "Oh—no. No, that's not what I meant. Well, I mean, yeah, I meant freaks, but not in a bad way—" His eyes widened as Jink sparked even more, positively _glowing_ with electric power. "I'm a 'freak' too," he squeaked, sinking down in the chair and paling.

The ball of static around Jink's fist vanished; I settled back down from my half-standing position and simply stared at him.

Tony sat up again and waved at a few people who had been looking on. Abashed, they turned away and continued what they'd been doing before. "…yeah. I'm not trying to insult you. I'm not normal either." A careful note of pride inched its way into his voice. "I'm a flash drive."

When this remark was met by our blank, somewhat confused stares, he blinked at us and grinned that disconcerting grin. "You know, flash drive? I hold a book or something, it gets converted, copied and saved. Then, when it's needed—poof." The blue-haired man shrugged. "It's there. Pretty handy."

"So you learn by osmosis?" Jink eyed him and suddenly went for the cup of now-cold coffee he'd given her. She chugged it and chuckled. "That's pretty cool. I bet _that_ helped you in high school."

"Diffusion." The word came out in an oddly loud, harsh voice that caught both my and Jink's attention. Tony sheepishly looked at his coffee and blinked, covering. "It's learning by diffusion. Osmosis is only for water."

Something about Jink's statement had touched a nerve; I could tell. Shrugging mentally to myself, I picked up the napkin and flipped it over, scrawling on the other side. _Well, thank you for the coffee Tony. It was very tasty._ I thought for a second or two and then added a few words. _Would you like to watch a movie with us later on?_

{—)K

**That's it for now! An apology to IzzydaWolfeGrrl if I messed up Jink's characterization in this chapter. It wasn't intentional, but now that I read back on it Jink seems a little…iffy. Oh well.

Good night everyone, and please read and review!


	32. Chapter 32

**Hey everyone! Sorry (once again) for the lack in updating. I just reached an impasse with the last few chapters and couldn't think of a way for them to logically fit into the storyline. So, I've decided to follow the old-school Hellboy format and base this little sub-story on an old folktale.

Thank you ever-so-much for keeping with me through this inanity and continuing to review. You guys are great. ^,,^

{—)K

Tony quickly joined in our little group—he got along great with Roger, Jink, and me and wasn't as creepy or bureaucratic as most of the other scientists. In fact, he seemed more like a regular teenager then a twenty-something with god knows how many college degrees, if you overlooked the fact that he spent his days blowing up science labs and having coffee with giant cockroaches like yours truly.

The guy was practically a walking encyclopedia with blue hair; the second you asked him a question he'd have an answer. Of course, he wouldn't stop talking after, but at least you got your answer.

"Well, the frogs' physiology is somewhat like ours—they have hemoglobin, the last time I checked, but they have other compounds in their blood as well that maximizes the amount of oxygen they can carry per pint of blood. They also convert nearly one hundred percent of their carbohydrate intake to glucose and other simple sugars and convert that to energy with cellular respiration and all that jazz. There's almost no storage; in their liver I found only minute traces of glycogen and other starch compounds—"

"Okay—okay, we get it Tony. They're not like us." Daimio exhaled a puff of cigar smoke and yanked Tony's pen out of his hands—he'd begun sketching little diagrams of what looked like chemical compounds on the back of the mission plan. "Now, if you could tell us what that means for us on the field—in simple English—we could get going."

Tony blinked for a few seconds, then slumped back in his chair. His eyes flicked over to Jink—who was next to me and trying to stifle laughter—and then to me. Daimio had a bit more of an effect on Tony then on anyone else; it took a while for people to realize that behind the cloud of cigar smoke and that scarred sneer, Daimio was actually a decent person who wouldn't kill you. He might maim you if you pissed him off, but he wouldn't kill you. I clicked a bit and flicked my antennae encouragingly. He grinned.

In the tone of voice of an adult explaining something very hard to a child, Tony turned to Daimio and began to speak. "It means that they burn all their energy from the get-go. So, they're superhumanly strong for attacks that require short bursts of energy, but for more stamina-based attacks they're actually a bit worse than we are."

"Fine. That wasn't too hard, was it?" Daimio shot Jink and me a death glare and scowled at us. "Don't mess around with the new guy. We need people who can take things seriously around here and not crack jokes. That means you, Jink. God knows what you've done to the bug already."

"Don't call him a bug, and what the hay? I make jokes. It's how I roll." Jink put her feet up on the table, revealing her black Vans sneakers, and winked at Tony. "Get used to it."

I swished my antennae and scribbled on a notecard. It's not that we take nothing seriously; it's that you take things a bit too seriously. Try loosening up—we should really get you to a party sometime.

Tony cleared his throat a bit and grinned sheepishly. "Greg's right. You aren't stuck in rigor mortis, are you?"

"Shut up, Tony."

"Okay…sorry." Tony grinned sheepishly and glanced over at Jink and me again.

Daimio smokily sighed and tossed a folder onto the table, dislodging various papers from its manila exterior and spreading them around in some form of a display. "Now besides this frog issue, we've got all the rest of the jobs in the US as well. Liz—" He scowled at the firestarter, who raised an eyebrow at him, and tossed her a packet of papers. "You get this one. Something about the Mothman. Greg, you go with her. Jink, Tony—"

"Hey, Greg should go with us!" Jink grinned and stared at Daimio, who glared back at her. "C'mon Captain Zombie, it'll be fun!"

"You don't even know what the situation is yet!"

"I know that it'll be boring without Greg!"

Liz looked up from her paper and sighed. "Just put Gregory with her, Daimio. She'll never stop this way."

Benjamin Daimio made as if to reply, and then seemed to recognize the futility of arguing this point. He exhaled, chewed a bit on his cigar and almost threw the next packet at me. "Fine. You guys get to go to the Southwest. You'll just _love _this one."

{—)K

Tony rummaged around in his backpack and removed a small book; I caught a glimpse of the title—"Spanish to English Dictionary"—before he placed a hand on its cover and sat back in his plane seat, eyes half-closed. Curious, I continued to watch him. Was this the "absorbing" thing that he'd mentioned before? His eyes were flicking back and forth from behind closed lids, like he was reading the book with his eyes closed…it was somewhat creepy, actually. Then again, can't blink or move my eyes, so I shouldn't be one to talk.

After a few seconds he opened his eyes and seemed to notice that I was staring at him. He grinned sheepishly and placed the battered dictionary in his knapsack again. "Just brushing up on my Spanish."

I scrawled on a card and held it up, antennae flicking irritably in the pressurized air of the airplane cabin. I'm not a big fan of planes, by the way; they

Re faster and more convenient than flying there on my own power, but they're not exactly nice. The cramped orderliness of everything, the awkward bathrooms, the pressure and weird swooping sensations in your gut…not fun. _We were promised a translator, weren't we?_

"Yeah, but I'm making sure that I can understand the primary sources. The main eyewitness speaks Spanish, and certain things are lost in translation; the eyewitness may say one thing in Spanish, but the translator may inadvertently twist it when converting it to English. Accuracy is best, and this," he patted the backpack as if he was keeping a small animal inside there. "This is the way to insure accuracy."

"If we even _get_ a translator. Daimio probably 'forgot' to mention it." Jink glared at us from a seat opposite the aisle, headphones firmly clamped around her ears. A battered stuffed penguin blearily gazed at us from the crook of her arm, one button-eye loose and on the verge of popping off. "And could you shut up? I'm trying to listen to my IPod." Jink hugged the penguin tighter—the loose eye shifted a bit—and looked down at the floor of the cabin.

The uncharacteristic irritability gave her fear away. Jink was scared—no wonder. Planes scared a lot of people. Tony, however, didn't seem to have noticed that; he was staring at the penguin and avoiding Jink's resultant glare with an expression of confusion and bemusement on his face. Slowly I rose from my seat and moved over, plunking my exoskeletal butt down in the seat right next to hers. After a few seconds of thought—what's the best thing to say to someone scared of planes? I honestly had no clue—I scribbled on the backside of my notecard and passed it over to her.

_You know, the plane's not going to do anything. Even __if __it starts going down, though, I'd be able to at least get you guys down safely. Wings and everything, you know._

"You can't even_ fly_ right, remember?" Jink's reply was sharp, but a grin spread across her face. "But thanks, Greg. It just wigs me out…the water, and the planes…ugh."

_No problem._

The blue-haired man sitting near us finally realized what was going on, apparently; he brightened up and shrugged. "Actually, the statistics prove that it's more dangerous to drive a car or sail a boat than fly in a plane. Last year, for instance, there were over a million car crashes but only a hundred or so plane crashes. Out of those, only—"

The stuffed penguin sailed past my head, crossing the small distance between Jink and Tony and thumping against his head.

"Shut up, Tony."

He grinned as I flicked my antennae towards the toy. "Sorry."


	33. Chapter 33

**Here's another update! :D More characterization for Tony; I've come to love the dorky nerd that he's shaping up to be. Any comments are appreciated, and please read and review! ^,,^

{—)K

"Fue tan extraño ... Yo estaba durmiendo y ella se coló por mi ventana. Ella puso un freno a mi cuello y me convirtió en un burro! Entonces, ella me cabalgó toda la ciudad ... estoy tan cansado. Esta es la quinta vez que ha hecho esto a mí."

Tony nodded and squinted at the man's neck. "¿Tiene marcas en el cuello?"

"Sí. Aquí mismo, en la brida fue …"

The man lifted his head up, exposing several long wheals on the skin of his neck, and sighed; I could see the fatigue in his eyes and hear the fear and bewilderment in his voice even though I didn't understand his words. As Jink had cynically predicted, the translator hadn't met us when we got to the town where the incident had occurred and we'd had to forge on from there without them. Tony was the only one out of us who could really speak Spanish, thanks to his short contact with that book while on the plane. I once took a course in basic Spanish, but I can't remember how to say anything except 'two beers, please' and 'I'll pay in cash.'

Don't judge me, please. I was a college kid, remember?

At least Jink was as in the dark as I was; she squinted a bit and blew air, then looked at me and shrugged. "I have no clue what he's saying. Do you, Greg?"

My top arms moved in a shrug and my antennae twitched; I thought for a moment about how lucky we were the houses were farther apart from each other around here—nobody was around to shriek or squeal about having a giant cockroach around. I shook my head and wrote. _No. All I got was 'burro,' and I think that means 'donkey.'_

She sighed and tipped her hat down a bit, shielding her face from the sun. By now, I'd gathered that she wasn't a daylight person. I didn't blame her—the hot, bright sunlight had me itching to hide, preferably in a cooler, darker place. Basements sounded good right now. "Yeah, it does. I know enough Spanish to pick that out. Why do you think he said that—oh, hey Tony. What's the verdict?"

The blue-haired man had excused himself with a few sentences and was walking towards us. The eyewitness turned and vanished into his house as Tony stopped in front of us. "Well, the man said that someone—he didn't know them, but he says it was a woman, so I'm assuming that she's got some knowledge of magic or may be a witch—snuck into his bedroom while he was asleep and put a bridle-like device around his neck. Immediately—"

"What is this, some kind of bondage thing? This isn't supernatural, just creepy and kinky." Jink paused and raised an eyebrow at our silent stares. "What? It's only pornographic if it turns you on. Does it turn you on, you filthy pervert?"

As Tony flushed bright red and stammered something about not liking it, but being okay with it if it was your thing, I scribbled on a card and flashed it. _Nice Lennon quote, but now isn't the time. It's hot out, and we've got to get at least __some__ work done._ Ignoring Jink's mature response—she stuck her tongue out—I turned to Tony and added another sentence. _You were saying?_

"Well…erm…okay. Now that that comment's behind us…umm—he immediately lost motor function and was transformed into a donkey. His exact words, or at least as exact as they can be when I'm translating them, were 'made me a burro.' The woman then led him out of his house and proceeded to ride him around town…" Tony trailed off as Jink dissolved into barely-smothered laughter, a blush creeping up his face. "She then used him as a draught…uh…"

If I could have rolled my eyes, I would have; Jink's laughter was somewhat annoying when coupled with Tony's stammering. How old was this guy, anyway? He had to be my age, yet he was blushing over the faint sex references like he was twelve. I really just wanted to get this over and _done_ with; it was hot, it was dry, I didn't know Spanish and I wanted to be with the egg case. Not to mention I was getting hungry…

_Jink, please don't laugh. I know it sounds awkward, but really. Make a 'that's what she said' joke and leave it alone._

"Fine. That's what she said." Jink giggled, then pulled at the sleeve of her hoodie. "Okay, I'm done now. So what are we going to do about this? Wait until the night, then catch this mysterious bondage woman and stop her from making a jackass out of the guy?"

I nodded a bit and began writing, but paused as Tony cut in. He had stopped blushing, thank God. "This man isn't going to do it. According to him, this has been the fifth time he's been transformed. I suggest that one of us take his place instead; in the darkness it's unlikely that this woman will realize it's not him until it's too late."

Jink rubbed her nose and then shook her head. "No way _I'm_ doing it. Sounds too creepy for me, and I'm a girl anyway. Even in the dark she'll notice _that_. Greg can't go, so that means…" A grin that I can only describe as _devious_ lit up her face—it was like the expression that crossed her face when we were playing strip poker so long ago. "You're gonna do it, Tony."

"W-what? Why…" Tony seemed to realize the logic of it and slumped a bit. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked from me to Jink, then back to me again. A red tinge crept up his cheeks. "Alright. I'll do it."

{—)K

"So, when do you think she's gonna show up?"

Twisting in the dark of the truck seat and peering at my notecards—we had a single flashlight with red cellophane around the lit part, to preserve Jink's night vision—I scrawled a reply and pushed the scrap of paper over to her. _Soon. I can't smell anyone coming, though. _Jink whispered back to me, "Neither can I. I can't even see my hand in front of my face…look." Frantically she flailed her arm around, almose smacking me between my bulging black eyes. "Sorry Greg."

((It's okay.)) I looked at her—I could see her hand just fine—and twitched my antennae. My mandibles clicked softly as I stared out the window of the pickup truck at the dark front of the house; Tony was in the bedroom, most likely wide-awake but pretending to be asleep. The man who would normally be there had thanked us profusely—he'd almost kissed Tony when learning about our plan—and promptly left to stay at his cousin's house in the next town. We didn't have to worry about him getting hurt, at least, which made things easier. He probably wouldn't, though; this was going to be a simple 'snatch-and-grab.' Just as soon as the person decided to show up…

A shape flitted past our truck and darted around the side of the house. It vanished for a few seconds, then reappeared higher up, against the wall of the building; it clung like a leech and slowly worked its way over to what I guessed was a window, then vanished inside. Jink somehow managed to see that—she poked at me after a few moments' pause. "What was that?"

((I don't know—)) Springing out of the truck, I heard the crash of something heavy from inside the house. A light flicked on for a second, only to shut off again as Tony's voice rang out. "She's here—come quick, she's got the—nnneeghhh!" The words were lost in a choked sort of braying noise.

"Hang on Tony!" As I fumbled with the high beams, Jink almost leapt from the truck and bolted for the house. She barely got halfway before the front door exploded outward, shattering to kindling and bits of dark wood in the darkness. I managed to get the beams on as another braying sound—this one uncannily like a human scream—split the night. Light flooded the area.

A figure dressed in black pants and a simple blouse emerged from inside the house, smiling a bit and regarding us icily from brown eyes. The light from the truck's headlights reflected oddly in them, making her seem for a second like a cat—those orbs flashed bright red. She was seated on a gray animal, one with knock-knees that stumbled forward, as if it was unused to the bridle around its neck or even the feet it walked with.

((Tony?!)) That had to be him; his glasses were gone, along with the blue of his hair, but his eyes were still gray by some trick. The woman smiled at us and waved, then dug her heels into Tony's sides and whispered something in one of his now-furry ears. Whatever it was, it made him shudder and bow his head, then spring into an awkward, stumbling run.

Jink dodged to the side as Tony and the woman rushed past. "What the—hey, what the _fuck _lady?! That's my friend! Now get that fucking thing off him and turn him back!"

With a yank on the reins, she forced Tony to stop and shuffle around to face us. His eyes were wide and scared-looking. "'Your friend?' This"—she patted his neck; Tony snorted and hung his head again—"doesn't look like your friend. It looks like a donkey to me."

"Cut the bullshit! Greg, c'mon. Let's get this bitch—" The woman made a small gesture with her hand and Jink's mouth suddenly snapped shut like a bear trap. "—murff muffwwe merf!"

The woman's eyes crinkled in mirth and she tutted. "Such a tongue for a whelp. Do you speak this way, cuca?"

I shook my head and began writing, only to stop as she spurred Tony on and turned away. Even though Jink and I dashed after the two of them we were unable to grab hold of the reins of the bridle. Whatever magic was at work, it had made Tony one fast donkey. Eventually our run slowed to a tired walk, while Tony continued to gallop on—as much as a donkey _could_ gallop anyway.

This had _not_ turned out as we'd planned…


	34. Chapter 34

**Hello, readers. I've neglected his story for long enough – school, research papers, preparation for cosplay events and laziness can only delay me for so long. :P Hopefully you haven't given up on me yet.

I just realized that I've forgotten to add a disclaimer, so: **I, Zipper Whippersnapper, admit that I own nothing in this fanfiction but my original characters, the plot, fictional settings and non-canon dialogue by canon characters in the BRPD comicverse (which I do not own.)**

…you know, I actually own a lot. I'm sorta proud now. ^,,^

{—)K

This had _not_ turned out as we'd planned…

For what felt like an hour we both stood there, Jink panting and I just chittering to myself. Tony continued to shrink off into the distance, his braying becoming fainter and fainter as the distance between him and that woman, and Jink and me increased. Pretty soon he vanished from sight and earshot, and all we had was the sticky heat of the night and a feeling of guilt that was just as oppressive.

_This is __not__ what we planned, Jink._ I held out a card, only to have it knocked out of my grip as Jink shot the bird towards where Tony was being spurred on. She was absolutely livid; her hair was puffing out from static and sparking enough that I had to step back to avoid being electrocuted. The fact that the spell gluing her jaws shut hadn't worn off yet made the whole thing much more bizarre.

Part of me felt like swearing as well, but I knew it wouldn't do anything in the end; we had to get Tony back, before anything…bad…happened. Well, anything worse than sudden human-to-animal transformations and practical kidnapping was, anyway.

"Miffwiffe mffwggf g—_gah! And when I get my fucking hands on you you're gonna be fried crispy, you creepy S and M bitch!"_ With a sudden 'pop' noise, Jink's mouth became unstuck and she was free to storm and swear vehemently. "_God-fucking-damnit I hope you have life insurance, because you're gonna be in the freakin' hospital a loooong time, bitch!_"

Tony was going farther with every swearword, I realized. Scrambling for a pen and paper, I held up a card with one hand and put another on Jink's shoulder. _Jink, calm down. _When she refused to stop cursing, I tightened my grip on her shoulder and shoved the card in her face. ((Calm down, Jink!))

With eyes that practically burned holes in my exoskeleton, Jink glared at me, then looked away. Tony was out of sight now; I could almost hear another of those terrified neighing noises…

"Okay. Calming down." She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "So what are we gonna do? Tony's out there with that…woman…and she's freakin' _riding _him."

'Riding him' never had as bad an implication until now. I shuddered and scribbled on a note card, antennae twitching wildly in my irritation. _I don't know how, but we've got to find him. _

"No _shit_, Sherlock," Jink snarled. As her eyes met my own and I flicked my antennae irritably - this really _was not the time for screwing around_ - she sighed and held up her hands. "I'm calm, okay Greg? Not pissed off _at all_."

This wasn't the time for sarcasm, either. I didn't stop staring until she relented. "Okay, I'm not being sarcastic either."

Good enough. _Thanks. _Holding up another note card, I cast my eyes around and tried to come up with a way to track down our wayward friend. The locator, perhaps?

Scrambling to the truck, I opened the door and checked the small laptop-like device that pinpointed the location of an activated locator. Knowing Tony, he'd probably pressed that damn button as soon as the woman came near him with the bridle…

The screen was dark; the locator was off. Punching in a few buttons, I tried to activate the beacon remotely, only for it to flash yellow. What did that mean?

Jink was looking over my shoulder. "What are you…oh. Damn, I shoulda thought of that. The yellow means it's within 30 feet and not moving. It's in the house, Greg."

So the thing was on, but nowhere near Tony. The BPRD really had to work on their equipment's effectiveness. As Jink left me to turn off the tracking device and stash it back in the truck, I tried to come up with something else we could do. The ideas just wouldn't _come_ though…all I could think about was either how hot it was, how dark it was, or what could be happening to Tony. Goddamnit, I needed to focus.

Jink helped me with that, thank God. "Did he leave tracks?"

I squinted and looked down at the dusty pavement - truthfully, I don't know much about horses and donkeys, but they're supposed to leave hoof marks when they run, aren't they? That sounded right. Maybe if there was enough dirt here, there'd be prints…

There were. Two neat rows of faint crescent-moon marks in the dirt. They didn't seem to be horseshoe prints, but then again Tony wouldn't have any. At least, he shouldn't have them; would a spell make someone turn into a donkey _and_ suddenly have horseshoes on their feet - er, hooves? Come to think of it, they're _horseshoes_. A donkey wouldn't have them. Come on Greg, focus forward. You're in the middle of a rescue operation now.

Jink had noticed the hoof-prints too, because a grin lit up her face. "Perfect. All we gotta do is follow those, and we'll wind up wherever Tony is!"

Nodding, I began writing a reply. _Yeah, and now we've_

"So let's _go!_" Jink interrupted, punching the air and breaking into a run. She sprinted down the road in the direction the tracks led as I stood there, half-written remark in hand. With a squeaky sigh I stashed the note card and pen away, then set off after her and Tony. To think that I'd actually _wanted_ to go back to fieldwork…

{—)K

We both dashed down the dark road, the little red circles of illumination from our flashlights racing us to the next set of hoof-prints, and by extension Tony. The further we went, the darker and more erratic the tracks became - almost like Tony was tiring, or he'd gotten hurt.

I didn't write anything to comment on it; something told me that Jink was thinking the same thing I was thinking, and besides it was too hard to run and scribble things down in the dark at the same time. So instead, I just sped up and hurried down the road was fast as I could. The track marks guided me, set after set after set blurring together like the lines on a road until -

"Greg, hold it! Damnit Greg, stop moving for a sec!"

Jink's voice hissed from behind and somehow _above _me. Skidding to a stop, I realized that I'd dropped to all sixes as I ran, skittering along like…well, a cockroach from light. Weird…I usually realized when I did that…

Jink crouched down next to me and pointed to a moving shape just a little further down the road. "Look Greg - it's him!"

((Tony?)) It was - staggering on with his nose almost ground into the dirt. Flecks of foam streaked against his sides, blending in with the gray fur - wait a sec, whered his clothes go? No, not the time for this, Gregory - and mixing with mottled bruises on the places where heels had dug into his ribs. In the dappled darkness - the moon overhead did little to light up the road - I could see that the strange woman was still sitting on his back, the reins tightly grasped in her hands. If Jink hadn't stopped me I would have kept running and smacked right into them. Thank God she'd stopped me in time.

No, she hadn't. The woman looked over in our direction and smiled thinly, the red light from Jink's flashlight reflecting in her eyes again. Jink gritted her teeth and kept the light on her as she pulled on the reins, forcing Tony to a swaying halt, then slid off his back in one fluid motion. Tony's legs folded in and, with a snorting sound, he plunked himself down in the middle of the road. One gray eye met mine; I could see how tired he was.

Jink sparked, a small ball of light growing in her palm as she glared daggers at the woman. "You fucking _asshole_. What the hell did you do to Tony?" I hissed to strengthen her sentence, moving closer to Tony and trying to get between him and the woman. This was not going to be good…who knew what she could do…

You could only imagine what our reaction was when the woman smiled to herself and patted Tony's shoulder. Shrugging, she turned and began walking away. "You can have this one back. Él no es bueno."

"That's not a fucking answer!" As Jink went to toss lightening at her, the woman vanished. Just like that - gone, without anything to show she was there. The would-be attack hit the road and fizzled out, leaving behind a small crater.

A small groaning noise came from behind me. Whirling, I looked down, only to find a very human, very bruised, very unclothed Tony behind me. Blearily he looked up at me, then glanced over at Jink, who promptly turned around.

"…I'm tired…"

{—)K

The airplane soared overhead and taxied to a stop on the runway as Jink, Tony and I inched forward in the truck. Tony was riding shotgun next to me, half-asleep and thankfully wearing clothing now as Jink checked her bag for her Ipod; as it turned out, the clothing he had been wearing was shredded beyond recognition. Luckily, his jacket and extra pair of pants hadn't been. He'd clumsily dressed behind the truck before collapsing into the passenger's seat and falling asleep.

As she wound the cord of her headphones around the small mp3 player, Jink broke the awkward silence that had built up during the drive. "So, we gonna tell Daimio about this one?"

"Hnh?" Tony perked up and bit, rubbing his eyes. Wincing, he felt at a bruise on his side. "Well, protocol states that any encounter with supernatural forces or beings needs to be documented, so-"

Chuckling to myself - at least Tony hadn't changed from this encounter - I hit the brakes and passed him a note card. _Daimio doesn't need to know everything, Tony. Trust me._

A faint blush crept up his face as Jink laughed. "Well…okay…"

Down the runway, the door of the plane opened. Time to head back to the base.

{—)K

**That's it for now. I know it's a cruddy chapter, but I'm trying to kick my own ass and get back into the hang of things. The fun chapters will arrive soon, when I get back to the original plot; I should update tomorrow, hopefully. :P


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